


And Then You Crossed My Path

by MSeren



Series: The Colors Are Golden and Bright Again [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Background Shepard/Tali, But she really does cherish Sam, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Mass Effect Romance Week 2019, Morgana can be more like a surly cat in comparison, Morgana has an ability outside of biotics that will be explained in a later chapter, Romance, Shepard and Morgana are my BrOTP, Shepard is like the friendliest pupper, Slow Burn, Spoilers: Sam and Morgana live and get to be happy and gay together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 21,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSeren/pseuds/MSeren
Summary: Shepard’s reputation was larger than life, and he was often considered the pinnacle of what humanity had to offer. Despite that, he was never consumed by ego, always offering a friendly smile, preferring to believe the best in everyone.As for his counterpart…Well, Sam knew little about Seren, save that perhaps she was Shepard’s polar opposite in nearly every way.





	1. Kings and Queens of Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a Christmas gift for [cakeisatruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisatruth), but I polished up some of the chapters for Mass Effect Romance Week 2019. The Sam here is based off the one my friend has written for. The Shepard here is based off of [BlackjackKent's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackjackKent) own Philip Shepard, who is headcanonically younger than the default Shepard of the series, which explains how he was able to attend Grissom Academy. Morgana Seren, the OC depicted here, belongs to me.
> 
> The title of the fic comes from lyrics in Sia's [Dressed in Black](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-0Ryu9yVQo) whereas the chapter title here is from 30 Seconds From Mars' [King and Queens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSiTrGCAbt8).

Commander Shepard and Lieutenant Commander Seren were considered to be Grissom’s most famous and prodigious graduates.

It was difficult to not know of the former. Shepard’s reputation was larger than life, and he was often considered the pinnacle of what humanity had to offer. Despite that, he was never consumed by ego, always offering a friendly smile, preferring to believe the best in everyone.

As for his counterpart…

Well, Sam knew little about Seren, save that perhaps she was Shepard’s polar opposite in nearly every way. If his presence radiated goodwill and strength that was as obvious as the warmth of a summer sky, hers was decidedly more subtle—a calm brook that could shift into a devastating deluge at the right provocation, always tinged with the unyielding chill of winter.

Then, where he was more approachable, she was… distantly-polite, wearing her authority much like her dress blues—quiet, distinguished grace. She kept everyone at an equal, professional distance—moreso when it came to Joker. Sam had noticed that whenever they both occupied the same space—inadvertently or no—the Flight Lieutenant usually took it upon himself to slink away as quickly as his limp would allow. Seren would only stare after him coolly before continuing about her business. 

There was clearly a story there, but in any case, she learned that most of the ship—save for the squad—tended to keep their distance from her, but that had little to do with the woman’s often apathetic demeanor. Apparently, the Lieutenant Commander was an anomaly among the Alliance—and of humanity in general—possessing some sort of mental ability that allowed her to sense and manipulate the emotions of others.

While Seren didn’t strike her as the type of woman to use such power on her allies, simply the notion of the unknown was enough to give most of Sam’s colleagues wide berth of the woman. That seemed wrong to her, but Seren—with her usual magnanimity—didn’t seem the least bothered. Whether that was actually true or not, Sam didn’t know. 

And these initial impressions were all before Sam had ever heard the other woman speak. 

“Specialist Traynor, was it?” had been Seren’s first words to Sam when she had gone to meet Normandy’s respective CO and XO.

Where Shepard was a spacer child, Seren was Earthborn, raised in London, which was well apparent from her accent, unsurprisingly eloquent—suggestive of a well-educated or even affluent background. While Sam wouldn’t necessarily call herself and Seren kindred spirits for simply sharing the same homeland, it was a pleasant surprise after what had been a few rough days.


	2. Picture-Perfect Face With the Wild in My Veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from K/DA's [POP/STARS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOxkGD8qRB4). This was quite the ear worm for me when it came out. Lol.

Sam had been down in Engineering to get some assistance with a broken terminal up in the CIC, but as she exits the lift, she is promptly greeted with the sight of a sizable crowd at the bay windows. At first, she pays them no mind as she attempts to squeeze through, but the flurry of movement down below soon gives her pause.

The Commander and Lieutenant Commander are sparring, and while that itself isn’t unusual according to most of the crew, it’s the first time Sam has witnessed this. She’s taken aback at once by the intensity of the match, watching as they trade what seem to be multiple vicious blows faster than she could blink. Seren’s expression is one of keen focus—not dissimilar to how Sam had seen her mull over tactics in the War Room—while Shepard’s easy-going grin is noticeably absent as he gives their fight all its due attention. 

This high up, Sam can’t help but see the noticeable size difference between them both. 

Shepard is tall and impressively-built with broad shoulders and a barreled torso on full display in a workout tank. Seren has on something similar, and Sam can now see the slim form full of wiry muscle that had been hidden beneath her dress uniform. The woman doesn’t have Shepard’s weight and mass—she’s more than a full head shorter and easily a third of his size—but she is lithe and agile. 

Below, Shepard visibly grimaces as Seren jumps, shifting her body midair to launch an impressive kick at his head that likely would’ve hurt if he hadn’t countered so quickly. Sam doesn’t get the impression that Shepard is pulling his punches either, as both refuse to give up much ground, never shifting more than a meter in either direction. 

“I almost expected her to be out of the fight from the get go,” an observer remarks somewhere to her left. 

“Thought Shepard had the clear advantage here.”

“Nah. Seren’s smaller, but that also means she has a lower center of gravity. More grounded, y'know? Anyone taller than her has to work harder to even try and keep her off balance.”

“How long have they been at this anyway?”

“Eh, ‘bout half an hour now. Haven’t even slowed down a bit since they started, according to Adams. Talk about stamina, right?”

A snort of disbelief. “Damn. Guess that’s what it means to be N7.” 

Through the window, there’s the muted sound of a timer going off along with Vega animatedly waving a hand, shouting about something or another. This causes both combatants to draw back. The transition following that is remarkably fluid: Shepard’s stern countenance fades as his trademark grin returns while Seren’s cool features warm by several degrees, sharing an actual smile with him. 

She can’t hear the conversation that follows, but Shepard is visibly pleased even as his partner rolls her eyes and playfully digs an elbow back into his side to which he just laughs, feigning hurt. The pair begin their walk back to the elevator, and Sam can easily see the sheen of sweat on them both. Shepard has to slick reddish-brown hair back while Seren—in lieu of a towel—lifts the collar of her tank just enough to wipe at the lower half of her face, revealing a tantalizing glimpse at an impressive set of abs. 

Shepard seems to notice their audience, and he sends a cheery wave in their direction. When he taps Seren’s shoulder to get her to redirect her attention up as well, Sam flushes, moving away from the window before the woman can even begin to shift her glance.

“Right. Terminal,” she reminds herself, muttering beneath her breath as she marches off to find Adams. “Need to get that fixed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	3. The Point Between Rage and Serenity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is inspired by Henry Jackman's [Rage and Serenity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L2DGBnMbaog).

“Lieutenant Commander, a moment of your time?” She watches as the woman in question deviates from her path toward the elevator—likely heading up to the Mess Hall for a quick bite—and heads to her station instead. “I stumbled across something that may interest you.”

Dark brows raise almost imperceptibly, but Seren nods sharply. “Report, Traynor.”

Sam explains that she intercepted a distress signal from Grissom Academy. A turian transport had since responded to the school’s request for aid, but given the transmission was remarkably similar in nature to the one Cerberus used to lure Shepard to a Collector Ship, she had suspicions about its authenticity. 

As Sam finishes with her findings, she is both fascinated and disquieted by the subtle changes overtaking the other woman’s features like dappled moonlight rippling across a lake’s surface. Downturned lips smooth, settling into an expressionless mask while pale eyes that had held mild curiosity within them moments before cool immeasurably. There is an eerie calmness to her, and Sam wonders if this is the side of the soldier who could unsettle friend and foe alike—Normandy’s Ice Queen.

But then that chilling gaze leaves her as Seren flicks her eyes up to the bulkhead above them. “EDI,” she calls, clear and ever concise. 

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander?”

“I need the squad gathered in the War Room ASAP.”

“At once.”

Then, without another word, Seren crisply turns on her heel, making her way back through the gate guarded by Privates Westmoreland and Campbell. Both women had been making quiet conversation, but they soon doubletake, standing rigidly at attention upon seeing the look on the Lieutenant Commander’s face, one to indicate she’s on a warpath although her pace never quickens beyond a brisk stride.

The tension in the air is thick, and it is only when Seren turns the corner that they all breath a collective sigh of relief. Campbell turns a bewildered gaze toward Sam, wondering what could have caused such a reaction, but she can only shrug helplessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	4. Human Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is inspired by Ivan Torrent's [Human Legacy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NzlDUeS1U4).

“Specialist Traynor.”

Sam turns from her terminal just in time to see the Lieutenant Commander step out of the lift, idly readjusting the metal chain that ran from her left shoulder to the first button of her dress coat. The auburn waves that she flips out from beneath the stiff collar are just a touch darker, suggesting a recent shower, which is made all the more obvious when Sam can detect the lingering scent of shampoo—something mint-like that wakens her senses. 

“I wanted to apologize for earlier. I left without so much as a word after your report. While I wasn’t pleased with Cerberus’ involvement, that doesn’t excuse my rudeness. I’m sorry.” Seren dips her head once, expression contrite, but the look in her eyes is one of sincere gratitude. “And thank you. Shepard and I likely would have been too late to act were if not for your efforts.”

“Oh.” Sam hadn’t been expecting this, but she offers up a smile a moment later. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you were able to help them.”

There’s a soft noise of agreement. “Indeed. Grissom means a great deal to us. We spent our most formulative years there together before enlisting with the Alliance.”

Sam only knew of the academy by its reputation—one that was highly STEM-focused in addition to its offering of biotic classes. Those who qualified to attend as students were considered to be the best humanity had to offer. It would have been quite the dream for Sam to attend, but as it was…

“What was it like?” She can’t help but ask. “When you were both students there, I mean?” When Seren merely blinks languidly, head tilting, Sam blushes, immediately backtracking. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I must be keeping you from working! I didn’t mean—” She stops when surprisingly warm laughter fills the air between them.

“No, no,” the other woman reassures, the barest hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “Forgive me. I normally don’t have people asking me about myself anymore, so your query was unexpected. These days, most seem to know more about Shepard and me without us having any real say in the matter.”

Sam thinks back upon the gossip regarding Seren when she first arrived to help with the Normandy’s retrofits. Granted, some of them held some truth—such as the woman’s icy demeanor earlier—but the more unkind ones certainly had little basis to them. She doubted Seren would have apologized if that had been the case.

“If you’re still curious however?” Seren offers.

“Please.”

* * *

“You’re joking!” Sam laughs, incredulous at Seren’s retelling, who only scoffs.

“Hardly. I’m incapable of doing so, depending on whom you ask,” the other woman deadpans, but there’s a trace of humor in those ghostly grey eyes that has Sam giggling all over again. “No, most of the divisions at Grissom were highly competitive.”

“So you battled with robots then, is that it?”

“Oh, we learned other things, of course, but those monthly tournaments were the highlight for those of us in the engineering program—trial and error tested in true chaos.” There’s a soft wistfulness in Seren’s intonation as she smiles. “Sometimes what we rebuilt were better than our original designs.” 

Sam can’t even begin to imagine the freedom of that, of actively being encouraged to push oneself to new plateaus, reaching limits that were only as boundless as one’s imagination.

“And I suppose the instructors also wanted to test our more innovative abilities,” Seren reasons. “An engineer’s skill to think on their feet in high-stress situations isn’t something that can be readily taught.”

She’s ready to ask for more of Seren’s experiences at Grissom, but a ping on the other woman’s omnitool draws her attention away. Seren apologizes quietly for the interruption before her eyes skim through the message sent to her. There is silence for the longest time as the woman’s brows gradually ascend into her hairline. A slow blink follows.

“Hm. So that’s where his hamster’s been the entire time,” she mutters, which only baffles Sam. Seren clears her throat, waving her omnitool away. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go assist the Commander with a small matter—quite literally as it were.”

“Of course.”

Seren doesn’t immediately move, instead imperceptibly shifting in place, as if hesitating. “And again, regarding my behavior earlier—”

“Oh, no, please! Think no more of it,” Sam insists. “Thank you for coming by to talk.”

Seren nods, and for the second time that day, the woman turns on her heel to walk away from her but under far better circumstances this time. Sam turns back to her terminal with a smile.

“And Traynor?”

Surprised, Sam looks over her shoulder just in time to see the Lieutenant Commander—a small smile decorating her own features—before the elevator doors slide shut.

“Well done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	5. Space Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is inspired by [Space Lion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKnVaDwUg5s) from the Cowboy Bebop OST.

Sam wakes in darkness, and it takes a moment to understand what exactly roused her from her sleep. She stills, listening, and she promptly rolls her eyes at the cacophony of snores coming from the bunks at the other side of the room. She runs a hand down her face, sighing.

She’s still getting used to sharing close quarters like this. Back when she worked with Alliance R&D, she’d go home once her shift was over, and that’d be the end of it. She never had to deal with the odd sleeping quirks of suddenly over a dozen roommates. After several minutes of tossing and turning, Sam slowly rolls out of bed and quietly leaves the room. 

This late at night, the Crew Deck is bare and dark. Only the soft glow of the floor lights illuminate the room. Sam begins her trek from one end of the hallway to the other, pondering whether a small walkabout would tire her enough to attempt sleep again. However, she barely makes it past one side of the elevator when the smell of something sweet invades her senses. 

“What?” Brows furrowing, she backtracks and looks around the corner of the lift. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust enough to see someone at the island. “Lieutenant Commander?” she calls, prompting the figure to look up.

“Traynor.” That accented voice confirms her identity, and Sam pads further into the Mess Hall.

Up close, Sam is surprised to see that Seren is without her dress coat. She has on the usual white dress shirt and blue tie though; the sleeves of the former have been rolled up to her elbows, leaving her forearms on full display. The muscles in them are put to work as she briskly whisks together something in a bowl with practiced ease. 

“I suppose you can’t sleep either?”

The corners of Seren’s lips twitch briefly. “Haven’t slept yet actually. I’ve a terrible sweet tooth that was begging to be soothed, and since there was none to be found...” Pale eyes drift to one side, and Sam can see a full tray of freshly-made scones sitting at the counter. “I had to be a little more creative. Would you like one?” 

Before Sam can even answer, Seren already has one plated up for her, fork in hand. In the dim lighting, Sam admittedly can’t see much, but she can smell some type of fruit within them. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she cuts into the scone before bringing a piece to her mouth. After a few chews, her eyes slowly widen. 

“This is amazing!” she gushes to Seren, who had gone back to her whisking duties. “What did you put in it?”

“Dried cranberries and some citrus zest. Not quite on par with a traditional scone, I know.” Her brows knit together, apologetic. “The flavor could be better were the ingredients fresh.”

“Nonsense! This is heavenly.” As if to prove her point, she goes back in for another bite to which she receives a soft exhale of laughter in response. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” The Lieutenant Commander dips her head ruefully. “My apologies. Shepard would tell you that I’m a perfectionist when it comes to anything remotely culinary.” She lifts her whisk, examining the consistency of the icing with a critical eye before nodding to herself with apparent satisfaction. 

Turning back to Sam, she nods to the half-finished scone before her. “May I?”

Sam simply pushes her plate forward with interest. She watches, attention rapt, as the other woman uses the icing still on the whisk to drizzle it across the scone in a tight zigzag motion. With a deft flick of her wrist, she then rotates the plate, repeating the motion again so that there’s a fine cross-hatch pattern decorating the treat. 

“I mixed in some lemon zest with the vanilla when I was making the icing.” She shrugs. “Mostly on the off chance the scones turned out less than ideal. Tell me what you think.”

“Well, full points for presentation,” Sam teases before taking her plate back. She samples the scone again, and once the taste of it and the newly-added icing touches her tongue, her eyes roll back. She lets out a soft moan in spite of herself. 

Seren arches a brow, amused, even as she begins icing the rest of the scones on the tray. “It passes muster, I take it?”

“More than that,” she replies. “How in the world did you even convince the Mess Sergeant to let you use the stove? He never lets anyone near it, not after the incident with the two corporals and the grease fire.”

Morgana’s smile is enigmatic. “One of the few times I pulled rank. That, and it didn’t hurt that I promised to share my confections with him.” She proceeds to put two of the scones into a container, marking it off for the Mess Sergeant in question. “He sampled something I was making for Shepard one evening, and he was impressed enough that we swap recipes on occasion.”

“I didn’t even realize you could bake.”

“Few do. To know, that would require people having to talk to me, and I’m… intimidating.” The corners of her eyes pinch oddly as she quietly finishes that statement. 

Done baking now, Seren proceeds to unroll her sleeves before grabbing her dress coat, which had been laying on the back counter. As her gaze briefly shifts in the direction of the crew’s sleeping quarters, the woman then takes two of the scones off the tray before pushing the rest toward Sam. 

“Here, why don’t you share the rest of these with them when they wake?”

“What? But you must have spent so long baking these!” she protests.

Seren merely shrugs. “I can’t very well eat them all myself. I just needed something to distract me this evening, that’s all.” She drapes her coat elegantly over an arm before heading in the direction of the elevator, likely planning for another all-nighter in the War Room. 

“Have a good evening, Traynor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	6. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired from [Beginnings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE-6A04Nhqw) by Position Music.

There’s no set routine to how often they interact. Sometimes when Sam is woken again by Copeland’s snoring, she’ll walk out into the Mess and find Seren there, getting water or some such. If not, she’ll usually see the Lieutenant Commander during the day, making her way to the War Room but not before the other woman sends a nod of acknowledgement in her direction, which she returns with a polite smile.

Tonight, it’s the former, and Sam is busy dueling with the ship’s only coffeemaker.

“Blast!” She curses, drawing Seren’s attention away from the sink where she’s filling a tall glass of water. “I think it’s on the fritz again. This is the third time I’ve run it through, and the coffee’s come out cold every time!”

Seren’s head tilts. “Hm. Could be an issue with the heating element.” 

Setting her glass down, the Lieutenant Commander flips the power button on and off, and the light for it comes on obediently every time, but it’s the almost imperceptible clicking emanating from the device that has her frowning. Her attention returns to Sam, who’s emptying out yet another cold mug. Sam can see her mulling something over, working her jaw briefly in thought, but after a time, Seren simply nods in the direction of her quarters. 

“Come with me. Let me see if I can’t fix this before morning. Would you kindly bring my glass with you?” she asks as she begins unplugging the coffeemaker.

Surprised by the request, Sam agrees quickly before following after the woman into the Life Support room that had been turned into the Lieutenant Commander’s sleeping quarters. Beyond the main walkway, there’s admittedly not a lot of room, but she can see Seren’s made the best of the situation. 

Beneath the case full of impressive-looking weapons and knives sits two thin tables. Both hold an array of various tools and gadgets along with the occasional datapad. As they near the window overlooking the ship’s drive core, there’s a bigger table taking up residence there, but along the adjacent wall, Sam’s eyes widen with disbelief. 

“Do you really only have a cot in here?” The question is out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she blushes. Thankfully, Seren seems more amused than anything as she sits the broken coffeemaker on one end of the table. 

“I couldn’t exactly fit a standard bed in here without taking up space that could better be spent elsewhere.” She waves a hand dismissively. “It suits my needs well enough; the cot can be folded away if I need more room to work. Besides, I rarely get more than a few hours of sleep as it is.”

The last sentence had been said almost too quietly for Sam to hear, but as she stares at the other woman, she sees the evidence of it. While those pale eyes look as keen and alert as ever, there are the beginnings of dark bags forming beneath them.

Seren had been invested in this war for years alongside Shepard and their squad. Getting universal cooperation had been a boon certainly in terms of resources, but that it had come so late into the campaign and at the cost of so many lives lost? That had to wear on a person, even one touted to be the ship’s Ice Queen. 

But she was still human. Her colleagues’ wariness of their Lieutenant Commander and her mental abilities aside, she was still human, trying so hard on so little sleep simply because she knew she couldn’t risk failing with the stakes this high.

“Now then—” Sam blinks herself out of her thoughts as Seren speaks. “—I won’t be able to fix this immediately, but if you’re still wanting coffee…” Her voice trails off as she makes her way to the storage locker next to the cot. 

Seren proceeds to pull out [a few items](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3pVahLZgAM), placing them on the table one by one. Sam blinks curiously at what looks like a carafe fashioned out of a round-bottom flask along with a beaker that had a graduated cylinder fused beneath it. A vacuum-sealed container is sat down next, and then Seren reaches blindly toward her with an open palm. Sam’s confused at first before she realizes the woman needs the glass of water still in her hands, which she gives up easily. Sam continues to watch this whole process quietly, but as Seren goes to retrieve more items from her locker, she can’t help but look at what other things she has hidden within. Her eyes widen upon seeing a familiar tin box. 

“I knew I could smell Earl Grey some nights in the hallway!”

Morgana’s head lifts abruptly, looking from Sam to her locker. She gives a small burst of laughter although there’s something like sheepishness settling into her eyes. “Ah. My apologies for that. I hope the scent didn’t bother you.”

“Not at all! I thought I was just homesick, imagining things.” She takes a step closer to the locker but pauses to look at Seren inquiringly, who merely waves her hand in permission. With glee, Sam takes her time looking at every tin, turning them over in her hands reverently. “And you have such a variety in here,” she breathes in awe. 

“Just confirms that I’m British through and through, I’m afraid,” Seren drawls, and they both share another laugh at that. “Rather, it’s my own fault for not being able to decide what I want at times.” She presses a button atop the vacuum-sealed container, and at once, Sam smells the familiar aroma of coffee grinds.

“God, that already smells amazing.”

“I’d be happy to let you try a cup.” Seren’s dark brow raises challengingly, and Sam is momentarily concerned until she can see the humor in her eyes. “On the sole condition that you don’t tell anyone about my reserves here, of course.”

“Done!” Sam agrees immediately, practically bouncing in place. “Compared to what we have running nonstop out there that’s…”

“Mediocre?”

“Terribly so,” Sam laments. “This will be a breath of fresh air in comparison. I don’t suppose you also have espresso in this magical locker of yours, do you?” She peruses its contents eagerly in case she missed it earlier.

Seren snorts. “Ran out ages ago, I’m afraid. I’ve just the dark roast now.” She sees Sam eyeing her tea collection again however. “Unless you’d rather have something else instead?”

Sam chews her lip, wanting to say yes, but as she looks back at the table, she’s remarkably curious about the set-up Seren has to brew coffee. “Perhaps another time? I really want to see how you use that.”

“Ah. Well, it’s essentially a vacuum pot I fashioned out of old equipment. When the water heats up here—” She points at the flask held in place by the siphon rig. “The pressure forces it up through the graduated cylinder and into the beaker, where you can begin adding coffee grinds to brew for as long as needed. It’s not dissimilar from what I had at Grissom.” Seren thumbs the burner on. “I didn’t leave my room for days when working on a project, and I was never a fan of whatever passed for caffeine in the academy’s Mess Hall, so I had to rig something for myself.”

“That’s brilliant.” Sam can’t help but admire the woman’s ingenuity. “I bet Shepard was happy to have a friend who could make him coffee like this.”

Seren emits a small noise, rolling her eyes, to suggest the contrary. “No, he actually doesn’t enjoy coffee or any type of caffeine for that matter,” she admits before sharing a conspiratorial grin with Sam. “He’s one of those rare creatures who can power through on enthusiasm alone.”

“Odd man.”

“Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	7. The Empath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by L'Orchestra Cinématique's amazing version of the [X-Men: The Animated Series theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5b9KSl--wP4). That said, anyone wanna take a wild guess at how my OC came to be? Lol. Yes, Morgana was originally meant to be a mutant character in some Marvel verse somewhere before I revamped her to fit into the world of Mass Effect.

After a time, Seren’s quarters are where Sam spends the evenings she can’t sleep. The other woman had offered her an open invitation whenever she pleased, given her own odd sleeping hours. Tonight, they’re sampling Pu Erh from Seren’s collection—a fermented type of tea Sam learned had once been traditionally made by letting the leaves age for a quarter of a century or more. As they wait for the tea to brew, they pass time with light conversation.

“May I ask you something?”

“You’re always welcome to ask. Whether or not I have a suitable answer is another matter entirely.”

Sam wrings her hands beneath the table, hesitating. “Um, well, it’s in regards to your empathic ability.”

“Ah.”

Eyes downcast now, she can feel the warmth burning on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. You must think me so rude.”

“No, actually.” Seren’s lips curl up into a wry smile. “I was more surprised you haven’t asked me until now. Besides Chakwas and, well—” Grey eyes drift askance. “—Moreau, I think you’re the only crew member who ever has.”

“Really?”

“More or less. My dossier’s a matter of public record with the Alliance, so most already know of my power although not necessarily the specifics of it. Hardly surprising there. It's not something most medical and science experts can really comprehend or even begin to quantify." Grey eyes roll themselves. "And believe you me, they tried," she drawls. 

“That bad, was it?”

“Well, the constant tests bored me more than anything else. They originally hypothesized my power was a latent symptom of some biotic ability, but the results were proven unfounded, as I’ve never been able to harness dark energy. I don’t know why I have my empathy any more than they do, but as far as I know, it’s unique only to me.”

Seren’s forearm lights up briefly as she checks the time on her omni-tool and then proceeds to pour them both a cup of Pu Erh tea. Sam can smell its earthiness from the wafting steam, and as she carefully sips, she tastes the cleanness of it too. There’s a freshness that reminds her of newly-fallen autumn leaves, and she can’t help but smile appreciatively.

“So what did you want to ask me, Traynor?”

“Oh!” She takes a moment to gather her thoughts. “Well, is it true that you can sense everyone’s emotions all the time?”

“Mm. To a degree. Granted, I can, but I don’t.” Seeing that she’s only succeeding in confusing Sam however, Seren pulls over the now empty vacuum pot rig. 

“Here; let’s use this for some visual aid. Imagine that the bottom flask is my mind, which also holds my power, whereas the beaker up top represents the people around me.” She pauses long enough to see if Sam is still following before continuing on. “Now, let’s say that these tea leaves up here are the emotions of those people. Notice that the only thing keeping those emotions from falling into the flask—or my mind in this case—is that chained filter there.”

“So it’s like a shield then?”

Seren’s head tilts minutely, impressed. “Indeed it is. Let’s call it a mental shield, shall we? That’s more or less what I use to keep myself from sensing too much around me. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not something I actually enjoy.” She sighs, sipping deeply at her tea. “You can imagine how annoying it would be to be battered by the emotions of others on a daily basis—the lack of privacy of it all. I used to get the most aggravating migraines as a child.”

Sam straightens in her chair. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Seren’s own power could hurt her. “How did you learn to control it?”

“Meditation mostly—the only useful piece of advice my doctors gave me before I stopped seeing them.” Her expression indicates she isn’t the least bit remorseful about that. “Granted, I still get migraines from time to time, but I’d say it’s no worse than what biotics with the L2 implants have had to suffer. Even then, they’re usually just products of my own consequences—too much stress or not enough sleep for instance. The fun side effect to those is that my own emotions leak out to others.”

Sam considers something, frowning lightly. “I could have sworn I sensed your annoyance with Lieutenant Vega the other day.”

“Hm?” Seren blinks, trying to recall the incident. “Ah, yes. My emotions can be sensed by others if I’m particularly upset about something. In the case with Vega, I just happened to be irritated at his attempts to discern information about a private incident between Moreau and me.” 

Sam could almost see those eyes darkening, but it’s gone in a blink. While she’s also curious about why Seren seems to be so distant with Joker, she respects the other woman’s privacy. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“Well, have you ever sensed someone else’s emotions accidentally?”

“Yes, actually. In much the same way my own emotions can be sensed by others when I’m upset, the only way I can sense emotions unintentionally with my shield up is if that individual were feeling rather strongly about something in particular.”

“Oh?”

Morgana shares a dry glance with her. “Let’s just say there’s nothing more jarring than a young krogan dealing with his pubescent phase.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	8. All This Time I've Been Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Kesha's cover of [Silence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJBqbRMUOaI) by Marshmello and Khalid.

“Wait. You’ve never played chess before?” Sam can’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. 

Seren had been the Normandy’s lead tactics expert for years, and Shepard trusted her insight implicitly. That she had never played a game that mirrored on-field strategy was nothing short of astonishing.

Seren only offers only shrug and a half-smile. “I never found the time to learn unfortunately. My late grandfather tried to teach me at one point, but I usually had my hands on other things as a child.” Her gaze drifts to the monitors at the long side wall along with the tables of gadgets beneath it. She hums briefly in thought. 

“I did always enjoy puzzles though, not necessarily the jigsaw ones.” Seren leans back in her chair, reaching into her open locker to pull out a small, stainless steel cylinder. “A bit like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rVz6Cnj2AY) actually. Shepard made it for me years ago at Grissom.” She rotates it in her hands, and Sam can hear something rolling around inside. “The goal is to get to rotating top to open, but there are ball bearings inside that otherwise prevent it.” 

“Extraordinary.” Sam takes her time admiring the fine craftsmanship of the puzzle when Seren hands it over to her for further examination. 

“That’s probably the easiest one I’ve solved over the years, but others can have features involving rotating parts, pressing buttons, using centrifugal force to unlock hidden compartments…” She trails off, letting Sam imagine the possibilities. “I’ve always been of the notion that a mind is a terrible thing to waste, so I appreciate anything that can challenge mine.”

“I’m certainly inclined to agree.”

“Having said that…”

Seren pauses long enough in speaking that Sam turns her attention away from the puzzle to look up. The other woman seems hesitant in continuing.

“Would you be willing to teach me how to play chess?”

Her eyes widen. “Me?”

“You’ve played with Shepard, yes? He has high praise for your skills, and, well.” Seren sighs, staring down at one of her abandoned datapads, full of diagrams and formations that Sam can’t make heads or tails of. “Perhaps I’ve been so focused that I can’t see the forest for the trees anymore. A change in perspective would be appreciated.” She blinks slowly, as if something had just occurred to her, and her brows draw together with worry. “Ah. If you’re busy, of course, I’d rather not take your time away—”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Sam waves her hands quickly, hastening to reassure her before the offer can be rescinded. 

She had sensed traces of the woman’s empathic power before, and maybe it had been the late hour that had affected Seren as it did, but Sam had outright felt the other woman’s near retreat behind that icy façade. It was like standing before a doorway that a winter’s gale had almost blown shut—likely an instinctive response to save her from uncertainty and vulnerability. 

Sam flashes a warm smile. “I’d love to teach you. I’d just have to get my chessboard.”

“Oh.” There’s another languid blink of those pale eyes that haven’t iced over—the door remaining just ajar. A small smile appears then, hopeful. “Lovely. Would you be opposed if I made us some tea to accompany our match?”

“Not at all. See you in few minutes?” 

“Looking forward to it. And Traynor?”

Sam turns her head before reaching the door. “Ma’am?”

Seren runs a hand through her hair—the action almost self-conscious. “If it’s just the two of us, you’re welcome to just call me Morgana. This late in the evening, there’s really no need for such formality.”

“Oh.” A ball of warmth settles into her stomach, realizing the trust the other woman is offering her by extending such an invitation. She nods. “Very well. Only on the condition that you call me Sam though.”

There’s a soft exhale of laughter. “As you wish, Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	9. Belladonna's Snare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [Belladonna's Snare](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pR23PkOiz1g) from the Adolescence of Utena OST.

“Morgana?”

Sam had walked into the bathroom with her shower kit to see the other woman at one of the showerheads. Bathing, however, doesn’t appear to be on the agenda for Morgana if the toolbox at her feet is any indication.

“Good morning, Sam.” Morgana greets just as she pulls her hair back. Sam idly notes the short, faded undercut as the dark waves are tied into a ponytail. “Please don’t mind me.”

“Is there a problem with the showers?” she asks, worried.

A snort. “I certainly hope not. I just spent the past hour replacing the fixtures.”

“What? And you’re doing it all on your own?”

Morgana simply shrugs. “I had a few hours free while we’re docked here on the Citadel. A little birdie told me that the faucets here were—" She openly smiles, clearly amused. “—less than adequate. I couldn’t help but agree.”

She laughs in disbelief, realizing where Morgana would have learned of the conversation. “You don’t say?”

Morgana merely chuckles in response. She kneels down to retrieve a wrench, and the shift in movement is enough for Sam to see the N7 tattoo on the other woman’s arm—proud and bold against her skin. 

“Given all that we’re trying to accomplish here, we might as well feel good while doing so. Cleanliness is next to godliness, as some might say.” She stares up at the new showerhead, eyeing it not unlike one of the many gadgets in her quarters as she begins fastening it properly. “Hardly the fanciest upgrade admittedly, but compared to jumping into cold lakes at the crack of dawn, it’s as close to luxury as one can get.”

Sam raises both eyebrows. “You used cold lakes to bathe?” She shivers at just the mere thought.

“Mm. Before I rejoined to help Shepard with the Collectors, I was in Special Ops for several years. As it involved us being out in the field for long stretches at a time, we couldn’t do most things conventionally.” She steps back to examine her work before nodding with satisfaction. She directs her attention to Sam then. 

“In any case, while you’re here, would you kindly test one of the showerheads for me? I’ll be over at the sink, replacing the faucets, but don’t hesitate to get my attention if you feel something can be adjusted, yes?”

“Sure.” 

“Excellent. Enjoy your shower then.”

Sam sets her kit down at her feet before disrobing. Her fingers eagerly tap through the shower’s interface, and as it turns on, Sam is pleased at the greatly-improved water pressure. It’s not quite on par with the one she had used in Shepard’s cabin, but it’s certainly closer than it had been. The hot water wouldn’t last nearly as long here either, but she sighs happily, planning to savor every last second. 

The sounds of tools gently clinking in the background causes Sam to look over her shoulder. Morgana is flat on her back beneath the sink, removing the compression couplings of the old faucets. Perhaps to be polite, she pays Sam no mind, but she’s seen that look in the other woman’s eyes before. She’s consumed with the task at hand more than anything else, ever the focused mind, accepting nothing less than perfection with her work. 

Sam shakes her head in amusement before turning back to her shower, steam slowly filling the room around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	10. In A Place of Refuge Where No One's Allowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by lyrics to E-Type's [Do You Always Have to be Alone?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zpwipdRH_XQ)
> 
> There is a bit of blood in this chapter but nothing incredibly graphic.

Following the fight on Sur’Kesh, Sam heads down into the Mess Hall for her break. She gets no more than a few steps in when she sees Tali sitting at the table, quietly fretting. 

“Admiral, are you alright?”

“What?” The quarian jerks in place, obviously having not sensed her approach. Upon seeing Sam however, she pauses in the wringing of her hands. “Oh. Hello, Traynor. I’m fine. Shepard got injured earlier, and I’m waiting for Chakwas to give the all-clear before I can see him.”

As if summoned, Shepard walks out of the Med Bay, looking a little worse for wear, but he smiles easily when Tali immediately rises from the table to fall into step with him. He quietly reassures her although that doesn’t stop her hands from worriedly checking him all over, murmuring her concern. 

They really are quite the cute couple, Sam admits with a smile, but as she watches them, it slowly fades away as something dawns on her.

“Wait. Wasn’t the Lieutenant Commander with you?”

Shepard blinks. “Seren? Yes, she was on the ground team with—Oh! Wait.” His eyes fill with mirth. “You mean getting the usual once over and lecture with me from Chakwas? Hah! No. She’s—”

“Even worse of a patient than our illustrious Commander here,” the doctor in question finishes as the doors to the Med Bay open. Shepard merely grins winsomely in response only to receive a long-suffering sigh and the faintest of smiles from Chakwas. She turns to Sam then. “I suspect she’s hiding in her quarters at the moment. Would you kindly ask her to come by my office please?”

“Um, yes, ma’am.”

* * *

At first she doesn’t see her, but she hears the quiet tinkering of tools further within. Just as she turns the corner of the Life Support room, she finds Morgana sitting at a table, the contents of a medkit meticulously laid out atop it. She appears to be stitching together a large cut along the back of her hand. Along with some bruises that line the side of her neck, there’s also a thick bandage wrap extending from her shoulder to half her right forearm. 

“You did get hurt!”

“There was an incident with a bomb in an elevator,” Morgana explains as if it were just any other ordinary day. “It’s nothing I can’t take care of myself, and it’s nothing worse than what I suffered from working Special Ops.” 

“Morgana,” she chides softly, frowning, as she sits down next to her, but the other woman remains stubbornly quiet. “Why didn’t you just let Chakwas patch you up?”

There’s a reluctance in Morgana’s disposition as she seems to almost cringe away from Sam. At once, Sam wonders if something had happened between the two women, perhaps not unlike whatever incident had transpired between her and Joker. 

She tries to recall any conversation between Morgana and Chakwas that appeared anything less than cordial, but as far as she can determine, their relationship seems amiable enough. She’s seen them share polite conversation in the Mess, but she’s admittedly never seen Morgana spend time in the Med Bay any more than necessary, especially once the usual medigel supply is distributed among the squad. In fact, she usually makes a beeline back to Life Support as quickly as possible, almost as if—

Sam stills, recalling an earlier conversation with Morgana. “Do you not like doctors?”

Her expression tightens into a grimace. “I don’t mind Chakwas. She’s one of the few people who isn’t outright terrified or nervous of me. It’s just—ah!” A soft hiss, and the tweezer falls with a clatter. Glancing at the woman’s hand, Sam can see the fresh trickle of blood running down it. 

“Here, let me help,” she offers, gently pulling Morgana’s hand toward her. Sam pulls out a fresh alcohol wipe and begins dabbing at the wound. Morgana doesn’t put up too much fuss, quietly allowing herself to be tended to.

“Thank you.”

“Quite alright.” Sam sterilizes a needle and begins threading it. “I’ve some experience with first aid. This will sting a bit,” she cautions although she knows it isn’t really needed. As expected, Morgana doesn’t even flinch as she begins stitching.

“…the scent.”

Sam looks up in question.

“The scent of the Med Bay. It…” There’s that hesitation she saw earlier. “It’s silly I know. I know why she would need to keep the room sterile, but it brings up memories.”

“Oh…” Sam can only imagine what types of tests doctors would have run on a much younger Morgana still trying to learn her powers. “From when you were a child?”

She grins sardonically. “Well, there’s that, yes, but that’s not it entirely.” A soft sigh escapes her. “When she and I were helping Shepard take down the Collectors last year, I ended up falling ill toward the end of our mission, and I was confined to the Med Bay for the majority of it. When Shepard and the rest of the squad left to check on a lead, the Collectors ended up boarding the ship.” 

Silence.

“It was the screaming and gunfire that woke me.” 

Morgana remembers. 

She had been bedridden with fever, but through the heated haze, she could sense the disturbance in the air—the phantom terror that she could taste on her tongue like greased metal. Although she felt like lead had been poured into her veins, she had used every last ounce of her strength to stand from the bed and focus enough to line a shot that killed the first enemy that walked through the door. It hadn’t been the first, and she had known grimly that it wouldn’t be the last. 

She had fared as well as she could have in her condition, protecting not only herself but Chakwas, but with the commotion drawing ever more hostiles, both women were soon overtaken. 

“I think she and I were the last ones left. I pride myself on my ability to take care of myself. That I couldn’t then? That I was so…” Her jaw tenses as she searches for a word.

“…helpless?” Sam tries.

“Hm. Yes.”

Silence descends between as Sam continues stitching at her hand.

“Listen.” Those grey eyes look over at her prompting. “I’m not sure if you realized this, but I was on Horizon when the Collectors attacked.”

“Were you?”

“Yes. You’ll recall that I lived out in the Terminus originally?” She mutters a small apology at pulling the skin on Morgana’s hand a little too taut, but the other woman just continues listening attentively, unbothered. “I was visiting my parents when they came. At first, we didn’t know what was going on. The sky had suddenly darkened with swarms of these insect-like things. Some of us were taken; the rest of us were immobilized, unable to do anything to help ourselves or them.” Sam looks up. 

“And then you and Shepard arrived to save us.” Having closed the wound, Sam proceeds to tie one end of the thread into a knot before cutting off the excess. “The Alliance isn’t perfect, and Cerberus is a far cry from being anyone’s means of salvation, but despite it all, you were there to help when no one else would, so I understand being helpless.” Retrieving another alcohol wipe, she drags it lightly over Morgana’s stitches, cleaning her work. 

“In your own situation, I have no doubt you did the best you could given the circumstances. No one could fault you for that.”

Morgana’s cocks her head to one side, and the small smile on her lips is seemingly impressed. “You’re quite good at giving pep talks.”

“Well, even heroes like you could use one every now and again.” She drops the used needle in the shallow tray of alcohol, letting it sterilize. She takes stock of the other woman’s injuries again and pointedly raises a brow at her. 

“You’re remarkably stubborn, you know.”

The statement elicits a burst of surprised laughter from Morgana. “I suppose I don’t have a suitable argument against that.”

“Good. Now will you please go see Chakwas?”

“Ah. I knew there had to be an ulterior motive.”

Sam purses her lips, ready to outright lecture the woman this time until she sees the clear amusement in the pale gaze staring back at her. She huffs. “You may just be the most stubborn woman I ever met.”

“I assure you, I’m truly singular.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	11. Through Your Kaleidoscope, I Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Kate Havnevik's [Kaleidoscope](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBilC_0hPUc).

“Traynor? A moment of your time.”

Sam looks up from her terminal to see Shepard. “Commander. How can I be of service?” 

“I understand you’ve been spending time with the Lieutenant Commander?”

Taken aback by the subject, she can only blink. “Uh, well, yes.”

“Good.” Heavy hands clap together solidly, pleased. “Not here to keep you from that. Morgana could always use more friends. I know she’s not always the best at warming up to people,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Most of that is intentional on her part. She knows people are wary of her powers. Been like that ever since our Academy days.” A rare frown darkens his expression. “I think she got so used to people avoiding her or treating her like the plague that she simply learned to keep everyone at arms-length.”

Sam had expected as much sadly. 

She recalls the early days of their friendship, which had grown through inadvertently shared late hours. Then, by simple circumstance and—later—interest, Sam had been introduced to the many facets of the woman that went beyond just the cold soldier most knew her as. All of it could have been discovered easily had most just simply summoned the courage to talk to Morgana like anyone else. 

“She does seem to be enjoying your company though.” 

Sam is drawn out of her thoughts with Shepard’s words. 

“I can’t thank you enough for that.” He grins before nodding and continuing on his way. “Carry on, Traynor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	12. My Heart Was Born Out of the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Jaymes Young's [Dark Star](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlXQIotlx3U). I swear, this is my song for just about every OTP I have in this fandom.
> 
> If you squint, you can just barely see Shepard trying to play wingman for Morgana. Lol.

“Sam.”

At hearing her name, she looks up from her current match. “Morgana?” 

Sam’s astounded to see the woman in question dressed remarkably casually today. The standard Alliance dress blues had been exchanged for knee-high boots, dark blue jeans, and a form-fitting leather jacket with the N7 symbol emblazoned across the right chest. It was similar to the one she had seen Shepard wear within and without the ship, but Morgana’s had an asymmetrical zipline, which extended from the middle of her right shoulder to her left hip—a soft, feminine touch. 

“What are you doing here?”

Dark brows arch minutely in surprise at her response, but before Sam can investigate further, Morgana merely sighs, rubbing at the bridge of her nose tiredly. Sam can hear her murmur beneath her breath.

“I’m getting him back for this later…” After a moment, she straightens and clears her throat. “Shepard mentioned you were interested in lunch?”

“‘Lunch?’” Sam parrots, confused. “But it’s not—” She looks down at her omnitool, paling when she realizes the time. Her head jerks back up to Morgana. “I’m so sorry! I entered the tournament on a lark! I thought I’d be eliminated in the first few rounds.”

“It’s quite alright.” Morgana waves off the apology, but there’s something like embarrassment in her gaze as she offers a sheepish smile. “In retrospect, I should have realized he was up to something when he relayed the lunch request; yet, you weren’t the one to contact me directly regarding it.”

“Well, we can still go out for a bite. Tournament’s almost over.”

Then, a chill ripples down Sam’s back as a voice beckons her from behind.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be free to join your friend when I beat you in 20 moves or fewer.”

Sam turns, glaring. “T’Suzsa.”

“Traynor.”

* * *

Morgana watches with mild fascination as Sam’s opponent seizes up from the winning countermove and promptly collapses onto the floor. “My, if you don’t just have the most interesting tastes in board games,” she drawls, but she seems pleased that T’Suzsa has been taken down a few pegs in such physical fashion. “Congratulations are in order all the same though.”

“Well, thank you.” Sam’s giddy with her victory. She waves at some of the few competitors still nearby. They send their nods in recognition of her accomplishment but didn’t wish to disturb her current conversation. “And… thank you for earlier.”

“Hm?”

Sam gives Morgana a knowing look as she smiles, lowering her voice. “I could sense you using your power on me.” She recalls the telltale veil settling over her mind with all the brilliance of a winter’s dawning, soothing over any jagged edges of discomfort and uncertainty with cool swiftness. She’s amused when she sees those usually placid grey eyes widen.

“Ah.” The woman runs a hand through her hair. The gesture is made casually enough—as if just sweeping those dark strands behind an ear—but Sam has long realized it to be a nervous tic. “I have no doubt you could have won that just fine on your own. I just wanted to give you a little encouragement is all.” She has the decency to look mildly embarrassed though. “I’m sorry. I should have asked before doing so.”

“No, it’s alright. She was starting to get under my skin. You helped me clear my head and give me the push I needed to win the match.” She arches a brow. “And it didn’t hurt that you were being openly vexing with T’Suzsa.” 

Morgana had never once raised her voice during the exchange, but her disdain had been evident, needling at the asari with the precision of a sniper’s shot. At one point, her opponent had outright missed pressing the button to end her turn.

“Hmph.” Leather-clad arms cross themselves. “It was a tournament to bring all of one’s skills to bear. There was no need for her to insult you, certainly not over something she has little knowledge about.” She lifts her chin defiantly. “You’re doing far more to help the war effort than she ever could.”

Sam can’t be helped but touched. “Well, that certainly explains the annoyance I felt from you earlier.”

“Apologies for that. It just simply galls me that centuries of experience did nothing at all to curb such woefully underbred behavior.”

“And your comment about the asari never winning a war?”

Pause.

“Well, they haven’t.” 

Sam laughs wholeheartedly at that, and Morgana’s mask melts into a smile, relieved the other woman isn’t angry regarding her little show of power earlier. Unfolding her arms, she offers Sam a hand. “Well then, shall we collect your winnings and celebrate with a victory feast, Champion?”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly at Morgana’s antics, but she accepts the hand up. 

“We shall.”

* * *

“I’m guessing the Commander couldn’t make it?”

“He was actually in the middle of a movie marathon with Tali last I checked. Some musical, I believe? There was notable singing involved.” She looks down at Sam. “I suppose he didn’t want you to be alone for lunch if you were looking for company.”

“Well, that was rather thoughtful of him.”

“Hm.” Morgana issues a small hum at that, seemingly less than impressed, but before Sam can ponder upon that, the other woman asks, “Have you ever had Korean BBQ before?

“Can’t say that I’ve had. Where did you even find this place? I never would have thought to look down here.” They had taken a skycab over to the next ward, and they were now continuing the rest of the trek on foot.

A low laugh. “I enjoy food. You didn’t infer as much from my culinary adventures in the Mess Hall?” she teases. “Most restaurants of this nature usually offer various grilled meats, such as beef, pork, or chicken that you can cook to your liking thanks to the gas or charcoal grills built into the tables. It makes for a truly unique and personal dining experience.” 

“Well, it certainly sounds wonderful,” she admits. As they pass a new block, Sam shivers, the air vents from somewhere nearby blasting cold air. Morgana notices her reaction at once. 

“Ah.” She frowns. “We’re currently down in the Zakera Wards; the area was heavily damaged back during the battle with Sovereign. While reconstruction went according to plan, I did notice the temperature in this part of the station tends to fluctuate a bit more than usual.” Morgana smoothly removes her jacket with a shrug of her shoulders and then drapes it across Sam’s own.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sam protests lightly, but she is grateful for the warmth settling into her now. This close, she can smell the spice of the leather along with the gentle scent of perfume lingering near the collar.

“I have a long-sleeved blouse on,” she reassures, casually adjusting a cuff on the deep burgundy garment. “I’ll be fine in the few minutes it takes us to walk to the restaurant. It’ll be warmer inside, so you can give it back to me then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	13. You'll Never Know What Hit You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Digital Dagger's [The Devil Within](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3UuqCN1sQs).

“How could he just... I don’t understand.” Sam just stares at the Commander’s back with growing disbelief as he walks away from her. 

Fired? Sam had never been fired from anything! None of it made any sense. It had only been the other week that Shepard was thanking her for befriending Morgana. Now, he was outright kicking her off the Normandy? 

Her feet are like lead as she makes her way to the crew quarters, hoping to gather her things before she can be forcibly removed. The entire time, she tries contacting the one person she knows could help perhaps talk some sense into Shepard, but the connection never goes through. “Why aren’t you answering?” she questions desperately.

_Morgana, where are you?_

* * *

“May I just say I’m going to take great pleasure in killing you if we ever manage to escape?” Morgana deadpans. 

“He said, ‘I should go.’” Shepard sounds the phrase slowly, frowning deeply, before turning to Tali and her respectively. “Do I sound like that?”

“I think it’s the first words I ever heard you speak.”

Morgana shrugs. “For as long as I’ve known you, yes. Now may we please return our attention to the impregnable vault we’ve been sealed inside forever? I’d wager we’ve only enough air between us for the next hour.” 

“How come nobody ever told me this before?! I’m open to feedback here, people!” Shepard actually looks distraught but for all the wrong reasons. 

As Tali tries to cheer him up, Morgana merely rolls her eyes beneath her visor, wondering if perhaps she wouldn’t just kill Shepard first before going after his clone.

* * *

Thanks to Glyph’s efforts—perhaps she had underestimated the info drone’s usefulness—he had been able to unlock the various vaults they had all been sealed inside. Their escape, however, also meant that whatever signal had been disrupting their communications to anyone outside the Archives was no longer working. 

As such, Morgana immediately receives the backlog of messages that had been sent to her omnitool over the past few hours, and what she reads has her greatly concerned.

“We need to get back to the Normandy immediately.”

Shepard blinks at his friend, bemused, as Joker fires up the shuttle. “I thought that was what we were doing?”

“ _Now_.”

Although he can’t see Morgana’s expression beneath the Recon Hood she wore, there’s a stilling eeriness in how she turns to look at him with the ‘eyes’ of that glowing white visor. He can practically feel the temperature in the shuttle drop several degrees, and out of his peripheral vision, he can see that Joker is pointedly keeping his gaze forward. 

“Traynor’s still on the ship. Everyone else left for shore leave already.” While her words remain calm—albeit synthesized in sound much like Tali’s thanks to the hood’s filter—there’s an undertone of menace waiting to strike. For as long as they’ve known one another, he’s rarely seen or ever felt her this angry, but it unnerves him every single time. “Your clone was willing to let us rot in the Archives; I don’t want to know what he intends to do to her if she resists.”

Shepard almost feels sorry for the other man should Morgana manage to get her hands on him.

* * *

“Traynor!”

Sam starts a little at the figure in pitch black armor approaching her. With the hood on, she can’t even tell who’s underneath it, but she can recognize that accented voice anywhere even with its filter. 

“Morgana? Where on Earth have you been? And you!” She points accusingly at Shepard, who had been following closely behind his squadmate, decked in blue armor. “You were just on the Normandy! You… you fired me! Dishonorable discharge for conduct unbecoming!” Her glare deepens. “You kicked me off the ship with barely enough time to grab my toothbrush.” Scowling, she holds up the item in question.

“Okay, look.” Realizing he needs to prove his identity, he snaps his index fingers at her toothbrush. “That’s a Cision Pro Mark 3—”

“ _4_ ,” Morgana corrects, deadpan. The lens of her ‘eyes’ whir briefly, giving the impression that she may have rolled them. Under normal circumstances, it would have been hilarious, given it was impossible to determine the woman’s facial expressions otherwise with the hood on.

“Right!” Shepard continues on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Thank you! It’s the one that uses mass effect fields to break up plaque and massage your gums, and I remember that because _I’m_ the real Shepard!” He grins, pleased with himself. “Now, please excuse me, I need to go save my ship from me!” he adds as he and Tali make their way to the airlock. 

Unfortunately, Sam is even more confused than before. Perhaps sensing that, Morgana sidles closer, pausing long enough to holster her sniper rifle—an impressive thing that’s almost as long as Sam is tall—over her shoulder. There’s a muted click as the weapon compresses itself and mag-snaps against her back.

“Shepard can’t actually fire you without first going through a disciplinary meeting, Sam,” Morgana says quietly, trying to put her mind at ease. As she does, Sam almost misses the quiet snort in the background.

“As if she’d ever let me go through with it— _ow!_ ” 

There’s the sound of a light smack, and Sam looks over her shoulder to see Shepard rubbing the back of his head with a pout.

“Stop teasing Seren,” Tali softly chides her boyfriend. “She’s already furious enough with you.” Pause. “Well, the other you anyway,” she amends as she runs her omnitool over the lock.

“Better him than me,” Shepard comments dryly. “I know how deadly that woman is with a sniper rifle.”

Sam, on the other hand, is still trying to get her thoughts together. “Well, someone still kicked me off the ship. If it wasn’t you, then—”

“Shepard has a clone,” Tali provides helpfully as she manages to hack the door open, allowing all of them to step through.

Sam turns to Morgana, bewildered, but the other woman only shrugs.

“I’d like to say this has been the oddest thing that’s ever happened to us, but I fear I’d just be lying.”

* * *

Later, when all the clone business is all said and done—Sam is likely never going to ask about that ever again—she finds a carefully-wrapped box sitting on her bunk. Stunned at the unexpected gift, she looks around at who might possibly be the culprit, but she finds that she’s alone in the sleeping quarters. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she sits down to slowly open the box, and she’s astonished to find a new Cision Pro Mark 4 sitting inside along with a note handwritten in neat, flowing script.

_Champion,_

_Please accept this as replacement for the one that valiantly gave its last charge to a worthy cause._

_-M_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	14. Stood With Our Backs to the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Aquilo's [Silhouette](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oysuXnEkw1s).

Shepard paces the floor of the War Room restlessly, a caged animal of fury and regret. Not far from him, Dr. T’Soni stands slumped at the center console. Sam can see the utter devastation clear on her face, having been witness to the Reapers’ destruction of her homeworld. 

Shepard expresses his own rage, infuriated with the loss of Thessia and Cerberus’ continued interference at every step of the war. No one can blame him. They had come so close, but now they’re seemingly without any leads to go on. He asks—nay, demands—if anyone has any further suggestions.

No one says a word.

“Anyone?” he barks.

Sam wets her lips, wanting to speak up, but nerves grip her. There’s a shift at her side, and she looks up to see Morgana staring at her. There’s curiosity in that gaze, perhaps sensing what’s going on inside her mind, but the woman subtly jerks her chin toward Shepard, nodding encouragingly.

After a breath—and perhaps the familiar caress of cool comfort settling over her—she only wrings her hands once before getting the Commander’s attention.

* * *

“I want that Prothean data. I want the Catalyst. No excuses.” There’s an unyielding hardness to Shepard’s gaze—a far cry from his usual cheerful bearing—which trails over all of them. “Dismissed,” he concludes gruffly.

“That was very well done.”

Morgana’s voice stops her before she can follow everyone else out. Sam turns around to see the other woman leaning against the center console. 

“Oh, it was nothing.”

“EDI isn’t the type to share unwarranted praise.” Morgana smiles, but her eyes are worn and exhausted—understandable given that she was down on Thessia not even an hour ago. That gaze turns to where Shepard had left. “And please don’t mind him too much at the moment. I’ve no doubt that he’ll come by to thank you later before apologizing for his earlier brusqueness.”

“I’ve…” Sam swallows, hesitating. “I’ve never seen him that way before.”

“Shepard has a kind heart, and so he will always want to see the best in people, but this war has taken its toll on him. I fear it will take so much more from him before all this is through.” There is the softest sigh as something akin to sadness settles itself over Morgana’s shoulders.

“As happy as I was that Cerberus managed to bring him back, I always thought it unfair in regards to him. He was resurrected to do the impossible because they believed he was the only one capable of it. Perhaps they were right, but that's a heavy burden for anyone to bear. It wasn't his responsibility to fix the mistakes of a galaxy blind to the dangers around them, but he did so anyway.” A slim hand disappears in dark hair, but it’s not a nervous tic this time. Morgana is genuinely tired. “That's simply the type of man he is. As such, I’ve always tried to help ease his burden as much as I can.”

Sam now has a better understanding of why Morgana spends as much time in the War Room as she does. She has personally seen her working herself into exhaustion some nights more than others. That the other woman has long been seen as callous and uncaring by the crew even now is nothing short of insulting.

If Morgana senses her indignation, she says nothing of it, simply pushing herself away from the console. As she passes Sam, she places a hand on her shoulder to which she looks up to see those pale eyes watching her—ever patient and calm. 

It steadies her.

“You gave us a lead when there was none to be found, Sam. Don’t doubt for a second that we would have gotten this far without you.” Morgana gently squeezes her shoulder and then slowly heads out, readying herself to rage war once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	15. Memories Are Mapped Out by the Lines We'll Trace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Bastille's [Laughter Lines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lDMDAibBug).

Morgana and the ground team had recently returned from Horizon, and Sam had been horrified to learn what Cerberus had done to her home. However, as she continued reading reports of the countless experiments against so many hundreds of thousands who had flocked to Sanctuary for safety, that feeling of dread slowly transformed into rage and disgust. 

How _dare_ they do this? 

How dare they sacrifice so many innocent lives to fuel their own needs and ambitions?!

Never before had Sam ever wanted to rip something apart, to make them hurt, to make them _bleed._

To wish it against the Reapers—synthetic beings of immense power—was one thing, but to wish it for Cerberus? The organization of zealots who had long touted putting humanity first? They were somehow so much worse, so much more inhumane than the Reapers could ever possibly hope to be.

She had stood, fuming at her console for the longest time when Morgana had stepped out of the elevator. Perhaps she had been making her way to the War Room again at first to plan for the siege at Cronus Station, but the woman had taken one look at her—likely sensing her inner turmoil—and then quietly asked Sam to join her in her quarters, where they’re both sat now.

“The Alliance has issued warnings about Sanctuary.”

“Mm. I’ve heard.”

“Cerberus bastards,” Sam curses. 

“That, they are.”

“Horizon was my home.” 

“I know.”

Tired of the short replies, Sam slams her hands against the table, turning her glare to the other woman. “I want them dead, Morgana! I want you and Shepard to tear them apart! Those people who went to Sanctuary were trusting that it’d be safe, and then Cerberus just—" She swallows, trying to blink away the burning in her eyes. 

“God, Morgana, how could they?” Her voice breaks.

In the silence that follows, Sam feels like she’s drowning, subjected to the unrelenting sea of her own despair and misery, but then a warm hand reaches out to place itself atop one of hers, anchoring her. She looks up with a sniff, seeing those familiar grey eyes staring back—warm and understanding but tinged with a quiet sadness, knowing that Sam is hurting so deeply.

“We will; I swear it,” Morgana affirms solemnly. “But Sam… Don’t let what they’ve done change who you are.”

Although Sam had been annoyed earlier with the other woman’s initial responses, she understood it wasn’t because Morgana didn’t care. Sam has known Morgana long enough to know that will never be the case. She realizes now that Morgana had simply wanted a safe place for Sam to vent, to rage her heartache, because she hadn’t wanted her to suffer and be in pain alone. 

“And I realize it won’t make it hurt any less—not really.” Morgana’s smile is rueful. “But if you’d like, I can make the pain go away for a little while.” 

She feels the familiar sensation of Morgana’s power skimming across the surface of her mind, the touch just barely there, respecting her need for solitude if need be. She nods. 

“Please.”

“Give me your hand.” Morgana turns her hand over, palm out. 

Sam places her own with it, feeling the strong, sure grip as it closes around hers. She’s not entirely sure how this helps, but sensing her inquiry, Morgana elaborates. 

“The transmission of my power works more strongly if we’re in physical contact. It’s also grounding for the other person since I’m using my empathy for an extended period of time.” Dark brows knit with concentration. “This might be a little jarring at first, but I’ll go as slowly as I can. Emotions are tricky things, so yours might fight back a little harder to be acknowledged. If it ever gets too much though, you can tell me or you can let go of my hand, and I’ll stop. I promise.”

Sam nods, trusting her. “Okay.”

At first, she feels Morgana’s power blanketing around her, lapping at her mind rhythmically like waves upon a sandy shore. There’s comfort and reassurance in the touch, but as the waves extend further, they soon meet her earlier pain and despair, which makes her gasp. 

Sam can feel them almost like physical things—all broken edges and wicked barbs wanting to root further within her—but Morgana squeezes her hand to remind her of her presence.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.” 

She hears the other woman’s voice, but it’s distant, like she’s listening to her underwater. There’s a steady murmur, and Sam struggles to focus on it. 

“Tell me something,” Morgana requests. There’s a feeling like rain drifting over her mind as well now, but it’s soft, cleansing. “Anything at all. Tell me what you’d want should we finally win this. What would you like when all this is over?”

She searches, thinking, but as always, there’s still that one dream she’s had for forever now, and she voices it albeit unsteadily at first.

“A house. Two kids.”

“What type of house?” Morgana tries to keep her talking.

Sam laughs in spite of herself. “A big one. Something with a white picket fence maybe.” As she continues speaking, there’s something… misty and effervescent floating inside her, wanting to solidify but needing help to do so. 

Hope.

It bubbles inside her, and Morgana’s empathy latches on, enveloping and empowering it, enough to bury her pain—at least for now—as she finishes her thought.

“And a dog,” she adds firmly. “Some kind of Retriever.” 

Then, there’s simply the feeling of peaceful calm, and Sam feels like she can breathe again. Upon sensing this, Morgana lets go of Sam’s hand of her own volition, but she keeps it nearby, silently letting her know she’s there if she needs her.

As it is, it takes several minutes for Sam to even speak. The experience had been like nothing she ever felt before. She wipes away at her eyes, but she acknowledges that they’re happy tears and not the ones of sadness from earlier.

“Sorry,” Morgana apologizes quietly. “I know my power can be a little overwhelming under those conditions, but are you feeling a little better now?”

“Much. Thank you.”

Morgana’s smile is soft. “My pleasure.”

“What about you though?”

“Hm?”

“I told you what my dream was. What about yours? What would you want when all this is over?”

There’s a long silence as grey eyes unfocus briefly, giving the question consideration. Then, there’s simply a slow blink of dawning realization.

“I don’t know.” Morgana seems just as surprised at her own answer and is even perhaps disconcerted by it. Frowning, she glances at the palm of her hand, slowly running a thumb over the callouses that had long formed on it. “I’ve been with the Alliance ever since I was 18. I’ve been fighting so long now,” she whispers. “It’s almost impossible to think I could do anything else.”

As Morgana turns her focus away from her, Sam takes the opportunity to really look at her. Although her own pain has been momentarily abated, she can’t help but worry now, but Sam’s concern is for the other woman, who had been jumping from one mission to another, back to back, without any chance for reprieve whatsoever. 

A glance into her locker earlier tells Sam that she’s relying on stims to keep herself awake now and not just caffeine, which Sam imagines can’t be the best long-term solution, but given all they’re up against this close to the end, she understands that it can’t be helped. They need Morgana at her best, and the soldier is never one to shirk her duties.

_No matter how badly the toll this all takes on her,_ Sam muses sadly. 

“Sam?”

“Hm?”

Morgana sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I’m sure you have other things you have to do before we reach Cronos Station…” 

She trails off, hesitating, almost agonizingly so. As much as she’s helped her, Sam wonders if Morgana believes that the opposite wouldn’t also be true. Knowing how private the other woman is with her own emotions, her heart aches at the thought.

“Would you like me to keep you company until we arrive?”

Grey eyes finally turn to look at her, clearly wanting it even as she frowns uncertainly, afraid to ask. “Would it be terribly selfish of me if I did?”

“Of course not. I’d be honored.”

It takes a moment for her words to register fully, but when it does, a tired, relieved smile slowly burnishes the other woman’s features—so heartfelt with its sincerity that she can’t help her own from forming. Morgana licks her lips, unsure of what to say at first, but then she laughs before shrugging. “Tea?”

“Well, I’d be offended if you didn’t offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	16. We Won't Say Our Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by OneRepublic's [All We Are](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6GZEHyvzSE).

After a long campaign to bring the entire might of the galaxy to bear, the Normandy finally makes its trip back to Earth for the battle that will decide everything. They’ll finally end the Reapers’ reign of terror, or…

Sam doesn’t want to think about the alternative. 

There’s conversation near the War Room gate, and she turns around just in time to see Campbell and Westmoreland saluting Morgana, who walks toward her.

“Specialist Traynor,” she greets formally, hands folded neatly behind her back, but there’s a quiet glimmer of concern in those ever-watchful eyes.

“I’m alright. Really,” she reassures, smiling. “I’m surprised as you are, but I’m alright.”

That pale gaze warms, and Morgana dips her head in acknowledgment, proud. “You’re a credit to your uniform, Sam.”

She snaps her heels together and straightens to salute the other woman. “I had a very compelling example,” she answers quietly with gratitude.

There’s a soft chuckle from Morgana, and the hands at her back drop casually to her sides. As she looks down at Sam, however, she seems to be considering something for a moment. Her body shifts forward—hands twitching up briefly—before stopping in place, as if second-guessing herself. 

Confused, Sam watches as the woman’s eyes travel to the Galaxy Map to see the red of the Reapers’ hold in near countless systems. Resolve—albeit resigned—slowly replaces what indecision had been there before, and Morgana can only offer her an awkward, strained smile before taking a full step back.

“Thank you for your service, Sam. I’d best go get ready,” she says, making her way toward the elevator. 

“Morgana.”

The woman barely has time to turn around fully before Sam wraps her arms around her, hugging her as tightly as she dares. She can’t see Morgana’s face as she presses her own against the front of her dress uniform, but she senses the airy feeling of pleasant surprise drifting over her at the unexpectedness of it all. 

After a few heartbeats, the tension in Morgana melts, and Sam can feel the warmth from the other woman’s coat as her own arms fold over her back, returning the hug just as strongly.

“Silly,” Sam chides softly, but all she can think of is that this is probably the first hug they’ve ever exchanged in all the time they’ve known one other. “You should really learn to ask for what you want.” Amusement that is not her own—along with a touch of embarrassment—filters through her. 

“I’ll have to take up lessons on that when I return.”

“You’d better.” Sam releases her at last. “Be safe out there.”

Morgana’s smile is more relaxed now. “Roger that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana is so touch-starved, I swear.
> 
> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	17. You Say Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [You Say Run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQQgXk7YIow) from the My Hero Academia OST.

Shepard and Seren had last been seen making a warpath to the beam up to the Citadel with Team Hammer hot on their heels. Tali, however, had sustained numerous injuries just before the final push as Harbinger itself made planetside, unleashing its weapons upon everyone. Garrus had to carry her to be evac’d out once Joker pulled the ship around, but that had unfortunately meant leaving the Commander and Lieutenant Commander behind to forge on alone, especially once Hackett ordered an evacuation for every ship to the nearby relay. 

The report following that had been a swift retreat of the forces yet to arrive as Harbinger effectively wiped out the entire unit still on site. Ordinarily, that would have been the end of it, save for the fact that Hackett had made contact with Shepard shortly before the Crucible fired. It was a domino effect as the blast consumed the entire mass relay network, and it had lit up Sam’s terminal like wildfire as she tried to make sense of it all before everything went dark. 

Unfortunately, the last intel they received was that upon firing, the Citadel had soon fallen out of orbit, quickly burning through Earth’s atmosphere as a result. That Shepard had likely still been aboard, well… 

Tali had been devastated as her dreams of a future and a home with Shepard were summarily shattered. 

Following the ceremony they had at the Memorial Wall, the quarian had confined herself to the Captain’s Cabin, refusing to leave even for food. Garrus and Liara had taken it upon themselves to alternate in bringing her rations even if it just meant leaving them by the door for Tali to retrieve later.

There had been no mention of Morgana at all however. 

Hackett had confessed to not having seen her with Shepard or Anderson in his last transmission to the Citadel, but all reports indicated the woman had taken the beam up with him, and Sam doubted she would have abandoned her oldest friend once they arrived. 

It didn’t make any sense.

Granted, given both soldiers had been in contact with Harbinger prior, it was possible Morgana had sustained fatal injury and died before the Crucible fired. That would be the most logical conclusion, but…

Sam chews her bottom lip as she pours over new information at her terminal.

Although Sam knows she should be prioritizing time in getting the ship off whatever remote planet they were stranded on, she portions off her time in the evenings to look up any information regarding Morgana’s whereabouts. 

Once Chakwas figures out what she’s up to, she only squeezes her shoulder encouragingly, eyes still wet from grief but warm with gratitude. The older woman has long considered those aboard the Normandy to be akin to her own children. If there’s a chance another one of them still lives, it would soothe her aching heart. 

Liara has even offered to lend a hand with what power her network still has. Still, if there’s anyone who could analyze the crap out of data, it’s Sam.

“Come on.” Her fingers fly across the haptic interface, eyes roving over all the information given to her. “Where are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	18. I'd Walk Straight Through the Bullet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [Diamond Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TexVzymSwBw) from Alan Walker ft. Sophia Somajo.
> 
> We've reached the post-war arc of this fic.

It had taken them three months to get the Normandy space-worthy again along with another solid eight to get back to Earth. 

The planet they had crashed on was thankfully home to an abandoned hideout of some kind, so they were able to strip the base for parts while scavenging for other desperately needed supplies. The rations they had found within had been a boon in boosting their stores for the long trip back to the Sol System. With the mass relays still down in the wake of the war, it was impossible for any type of immediate FTL travel. 

Once the ship landed planetside, Sam spent her time at what had temporarily been established as Alliance HQ, scouring through their personal information network for news of Morgana. Unfortunately, it too had been damaged when the Crucible fired, and it was badly in need of repair. As such, any type of search was slow-going at best, but it was still far better than the limited grid the main populace used.

Her days slow to a crawl as she looks for lead after lead with nothing to show for her efforts. She sifts through a year’s worth of logs from hospitals that had only now just updated their database. Most had little choice but to revert back to using a paper system in lieu of a working electronic one. For Sam, somehow having to decipher innumerable scanned documents containing the often illegible scrawl of various medical personnel is even more of a nightmare than analyzing even the most obscure bits of data in the CIC. 

She feels like her eyes are ready to fall out of her sockets some days, but—finally—after several weeks, she comes across a medical record written in bold, clear print, and Sam almost wants to sob in relief when she sees the name written across it. 

PATIENT NAME: SEREN, MORGANA

* * *

When Hackett gets word of her discovery, he sends a small escort along with her. If one of their own has indeed been found, he’s willing to provide what he can to bring Morgana home to them.

The woman’s last listed location is surprisingly far from the city she had last been seen in, Sam notes as their jeep travels along several miles of countryside where small cottages are the norm instead of skyscrapers. Nature’s touch is present here, and though scorch marks are evident in various patches of earth, it’s a sign that life still continues on even in the face of adversity. 

The building they arrive at is more a school than anything else, she realizes, one that had been transformed into a makeshift hospital with all the patients constantly arriving into the area. Within, Sam soon meets with the doctor—an older gentleman with snow-white hair and kind eyes—who has long been overseeing Morgana’s care.

“We were originally stationed in London, still attempting triage. One of our volunteer patrol groups found her a couple miles out from that last big battle,” he reveals once he realizes whose authority she’s here under. “She was stuck inside a escape pod and still unconscious when they brought her in. We likely wouldn’t have known who she was if it weren’t for the dog tags on her.” He directs Sam down a long hallway as they talk. 

“She was one of the last few people treated out there, but given how quickly we were receiving patients and the instability of the buildings, we realized staying in London was no longer a viable option for those still in recovery. As soon as we had her stable, we took her with us here, establishing an outpatient care center of sorts.”

“But she’s alive?” 

“She is indeed. Mind you, she was touch and go for awhile. She suffered a multitude of broken bones—her left leg especially.” His sigh is heavy. “She had so many burns that her armor was practically fused to the right side of her body. A year of skin grafts helped, but there’s leftover scarring of course; only cosmetic surgery can mend that. Given everything, she’s a damn miracle, but…”

“What?” Her hands wring themselves worriedly.

“I’ve treated a lot of soldiers in my day. Some of them were never the same again after what they’ve seen, but she’s…” He runs a weathered hand down his face tiredly. “She needs help, probably more than what we can offer her here. We simply don’t have enough personnel here to see to everyone’s needs, and it doesn’t help that she already doesn’t respond to our therapists to begin with.”

When they arrive at the classroom situated at the end of the hall which had apparently served as Morgana’s room, her concern grows when she sees it empty. There’s no sign of the woman whatsoever—only a bed that had been either neatly-made or never slept in. The doctor grunts, rubbing at his chin.

“Hm. She’s not scheduled for physical therapy today. Could be that she’s out in the forest again.” At seeing her indignation, he raises his hands in appeasement. “Normally, we wouldn’t allow our patients to wander about so, but being out there seems to be the only thing that helps her.”

And Sam can’t bring herself to be mad too long, knowing that the personnel here likely had their hands full with patients who can’t even help themselves yet. Morgana’s stubborn, but she’s also highly capable. She wouldn’t have taken kindly to being coddled by strangers, no matter how kind. 

“If you and yours can help her, I’m more than happy to release her under your care,” the doctor promises. “However, it’s my personal recommendation that she not be returned to active duty. Her reluctance with our therapists aside, it’ll be some time yet before she can walk without that cane of hers.” He pins a look on her firmly. “More than anything, she needs time to heal, and not just physically, mind you. Understand?” 

“Of course.”

“Good, good,” he utters quietly, taking another look into the empty room for a long moment. “You’re the first visitor’s she had the entire time she’s been here. That’s pretty much the case with most of our patients, but I think it’ll do her some good to see a familiar face.” He sees a nurse waving for his attention down the hallway, and he shares an apologetic smile before gesturing to the double doors near them. 

“Follow the pathway out into the forest. She’ll be in the clearing most likely. When you’re ready to leave, see the front desk for the release papers. I’ll let the nurses know you intend to take her home. Please excuse me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	19. Can the Lonely Take the Place of You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Christina Perri's [The Lonely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO4e4nCYBEo).

The soil she treads upon is soft—wet from the previous day’s rainfall—and given the forest’s thick canopy, the ground hasn’t yet been given a chance to dry. As such, Sam has little trouble determining Morgana’s path as she steps off the beaten trail and further through a tangle of trees.

Although the dense growth of branches high above her obscures most sunlight, there is an unearthly chill in the air along with the beginnings of what feels like a heavy shroud falling over her, trying to draw her to the ground and keep her prisoner there.

That oppressive feeling stays with Sam the further in she goes.

It’s the cane on the ground she sees first, abandoned against a tree. Apprehension fills her until she makes her way around the tree’s thick trunk, stopping abruptly when she sees Morgana sitting there beneath its looming shadow. 

The woman says nothing, head turned forward—gaze hidden by the auburn waves falling easily down past her shoulders now, having had the past year to grow. For a time, Sam begins to wonder if she’s been noticed at all until that dark head finally turns with almost unerring, mechanic precision to look up at her.

Sam is taken aback at once by her ghastly appearance. 

The woman is almost frighteningly pale, and her eyes—having always been light in nature—would have disappeared against such deathly pallor were it not for the dark, unkempt curls framing them. She’s also lost a substantial amount of weight since Sam’s last seen her. The thinness of her frame is obvious through the oversized dress shirt she wears, which practically swallows her. Beneath its lopsided collar, Sam can just barely see the old traces of mottled, red scarring trailing up the right side of the woman’s neck, stopping just under her jaw. 

_Likely part of the treated burns the doctor spoke of earlier,_ Sam realizes. She starts as Morgana begins speaking quietly.

“I felt you approaching.” That accented voice is hoarse and brittle, like she hasn’t spoken in days if not longer. Thin, chapped lips pull up into a sardonic grin, which doesn’t reach her eyes. “Seems as if Moreau got you out of time, did he? Good. The man has history with showing a reluctance to leave,” she murmurs bitterly, confirming what Sam has long felt was the cause between Morgana and Joker’s tense relationship. 

Sam wants to keep the other woman talking though, wants to keep her in the present because she isn’t sure she is anymore. “You said you felt me?”

“Mm.” 

Morgana’s foot kicks out from where it had been resting beneath her—restless as it bounces, heel kicking into the dirt several times. It’s her left leg too—the one the doctor said had been heavily injured. That can’t possibly be good for her, but it looks like Morgana’s trying to keep herself grounded through the pain, and Sam’s feeling of disquiet grows.

“I always could,” Morgana continues. “I can always feel those around me. Waves lapping at the shore.” Morgana nods almost distractedly at her own statement, rubbing at her eyes, trying to keep herself awake. “Yours is always warm though. Like sunlight reflecting off the surface of a lake. Beautiful and bright. Thought I was dreaming again, imagining you here.”

Sam is concerned with what she’s seeing, what Morgana’s saying. Morgana doesn’t ramble; she never has. She soon settles on her knees next to the other woman.

“We’ve been worried about you.”

A disbelieving scoff.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Sam amends, frowning at her lack of concern, but Morgana merely sighs and places her forearms over an upraised knee, hiding her face in them tiredly. “Why didn’t you try contacting anyone after the intel network went up?”

Silence falls between them for several heartbeats so long that Sam doesn’t think she’ll get a response. Then, finally…

“I didn’t think there was anyone left to contact,” is the quiet, pained response.

Sam inhales sharply, but Morgana still keeps her face hidden, turned away from her. At that, Sam chews her bottom lip uncertainly. She isn’t sure what type of progress she’s making here, but she’s managed to get the other woman to respond, and that has to be better than nothing, she reasons. Thus, she continues with her line of questioning, scooting carefully closer.

“So what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Can’t smell the hospital from here. Can’t see the destroyed buildings in the distance.” She buries herself deeper in her arms. “Just wanted to get away from it all. S’always pain there,” she murmurs.

And in a hospital—even a makeshift one—with so many wounded and suffering, Sam understands it would have felt like a cage to the empath. To be surrounded and battered by it all… Even for a woman like Morgana with so much control, she couldn’t have withstood it for long.

“…he didn’t make it.”

Sam pauses when Morgana voluntarily changes the subject, but it’s a heavy one. Shepard had been the woman’s best friend for years, and perhaps he had been her only friend for the longest time.

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” Sam places her hand on Morgana’s shoulder apologetically, but it’s roughly shrugged off as the woman raises her head at last with a growl.

“No! I—” Hands reach up to card messily through dark, unkempt hair. “I wanted… I _needed_ the chance to do it over! I couldn’t save him when the Collectors destroyed the Normandy, and I was so furious at Moreau for his part in his death, but then I…” She laughs—a dark, humorless sound. “I proved just as useless in the end.”

“That’s not true—” 

“ _Isn’t it?!_ ” 

It’s the first time Sam’s ever heard the woman raise her voice. The volume of that accusation has her flinching away unintentionally, and upon seeing that, it stills Morgana. Her lips part, moving wordlessly before finally closing, jaw tensing. With heavy, downcast eyes, Morgana focuses on the dirt between her feet. 

“I was right there with him, every step of the way, and then that blasted fool—” She scowls, eyes dark and resentful; the feeling cloaks the air around them. “He tricked me! He found a working escape pod, and he sent me back down to Earth when he knew that…” She swallows hard, rocking in place. “He knew that I would have followed him anywhere.”

Sam is at a loss for words, and she wonders if she’s even helping anymore, but she soldiers on. “I’m sure he just wanted you safe.”

“I know that,” Morgana admits begrudgingly. “As much of a toll the war took on him, he couldn’t abide another death, not if he could help it, but I…” Her lower lip quivers in spite of herself. “I had him here. Now he’s gone to where I can’t even begin to follow, and...” Her voice trails off into a crack as she curls into herself, drawing her knees closer to her body like they can protect her. 

“He’s not coming back this time, and I don’t know how to possibly deal with that. Because it’s so damned unfair that he can’t be here to see what his victory has wrought when he worked the hardest to achieve it, and I’m—” Her fingers dig into her scalp, eyes shutting tight, even as she continues speaking through gritted teeth. “I’m angry because it hurts so much, and it hasn’t stopped _hurting_ the entire time I’ve been here! It’s there all the time, and I don’t know how to make it go away, and I’m frightened it never will!” 

The rigid self-control Sam had always seen with Morgana is gone as her words come faster and faster, like she can’t help herself as grief tears through her. 

“Morgana. You don’t have to deal with this on your own,” Sam consoles insistently. “We can help if you just let us.”

“I can’t. Not with you.”

Silence.

“…Oh.” That hurts more than it should. Sam looks down in her lap, seeing her own hands laid so helplessly atop it. Her eyes blink rapidly before she nods to herself, getting ready to stand. “I see. Here, let me go talk to the doctor, and—”

_“Wait!”_

A slim hand launches forward to grab her wrist, and the instant it makes contact, Sam’s knees buckle from the crippling anguish she senses from Morgana, but it’s there only a second before the other woman releases her, as if burned. Those fingers curl away from Sam abruptly, and she can almost sense the way Morgana retreats into herself, pulling her own hands closer to her, as if to prevent them from reaching out again. It’s those pale eyes that give Sam pause however—wide and desperate to keep her there even when she believes she shouldn’t. 

“Wait,” Morgana begins again, contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that—what I said—or… or what I made you feel.” There’s shame lingering in the air between them. “I’m afraid.”

“Of what?” Sam questions softly.

“I’ve never shown you my power—not like this. It’s…” Morgana chokes, looking away, with a heavy shake of her head. “It’s too much. Too much to hold in; I know it. It’s never been this bad… I don’t know how to stop it, but I don’t want to frighten you away.” Grey eyes, gleaming with tears yet to fall, look up at Sam, begging her to understand. “I don’t want you to leave because of it.” 

Sam can’t even begin to imagine the woman’s pain, of having been here for a year, feeling like she had been left behind by everyone she had ever known. That she has hidden herself away like this? The why of it all is heartbreakingly understandable. 

Morgana’s power—the one she never asked to be gifted with and the very thing that had long drawn others away from her—had made her an outcast more often than not. She had hidden her suffering rather than show any of the medical staff—all strangers to her—an ounce of vulnerability, for she had been too frightened to try again, to place her trust in them, fearing they wouldn’t understand and she’d be rejected once more.

Knowing all that, it only bolsters Sam’s resolve.

“Come here.” When Morgana only looks over to her in confusion, Sam settles next to her against the tree. “I won’t hurt you. Come here,” she tries again, arm held out open in invitation this time.

Morgana’s eyes dart from Sam’s smile to her shoulder. As always, Sam notes, she’s skittish with any form of perceived affection—no matter how much she desires it. Still, it only takes a little more coaxing to get the other woman to settle comfortably against her side. 

“Whenever you’re ready, let go,” Sam encourages gently. “I promise I’ll still be here.”

Morgana says nothing at first, not even as Sam gently runs her hand through her hair in long, slow strokes meant to relax her. She’s quiet for so long that Sam almost assumes the other woman has fallen asleep, but there’s a shift and then the quietest sniff as Morgana turns into her shoulder.

And then Sam is hit by a wave of such inexplicable sadness so strong that it steals her breath away. She understands at once that her previous experiences with Morgana’s powers had been carefully controlled. Here, however, there is no such restraint as the mental shield keeping it all away collapses, threatening to sweep her away as tears inexplicably spring to her eyes.

_God, she’s in so much pain…_

Sam can feel the twisted, serrated grooves that had torn through the landscape of the other woman’s mind. Whereas she had felt the warm sun of winter’s morning before in the instances Morgana shared her own emotions with her, dawn had clearly never risen here. There is something dark and consuming in it now, an unyielding storm that has refused retreat. In its wake, it had frozen over scarred tracks of whatever Morgana had experienced that fateful day in London and the many more that came after, never letting them truly heal.

Morgana doesn’t cry audibly, but Sam can feel the other woman’s thin frame shaking against her. Sam fears losing her in the grief that wouldn’t cease its hold of her, but she isn’t willing to break her promise—not when Morgana had already lost so much.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Sam repeats softly, holding her as Morgana grips her like a lifeline, desperate for some measure of comfort and safety after she had been alone in her pain for so long. “I’m here,” she whispers into dark hair. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	20. When Everything I Was is Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Superchick's [Crawl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XV81bvG-oK0).

Following finding Morgana, Sam had taken her back to Alliance HQ. When she had given her report to Hackett regarding the recommendations of Morgana’s previous physician, he had thankfully been of similar mind, and so the woman had been placed in the medical compound where the rest of her physical recovery would be overseen.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. Surviving what had nearly been a direct hit from a Reaper was nothing short of miraculous, but despite her expertise as a soldier—N7-trained no less—she was still mortal, still human. 

No one else is more aware of that fact than Sam.

There’s a sharp clatter as Morgana’s cane slides out from under her, and she collapses instantly. “ _Damn it!_ ” she growls. 

Sam rises immediately from where she had been quietly observing the current physical therapy session, but the staff member who had been overseeing it is already at Morgana’s side to help. 

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” she reassures Sam, who still hovers nearby, while her physical therapist settles her down into a chair. “The muscles around the calf clamped up that time,” Morgana reports between clenched teeth although she seems more annoyed than in any actual pain. They had been testing to see how much weight she could put on her injured leg. 

“Hm. Not too surprising,” the physical therapist—a tall, lanky young man—remarks. His smile is all praise. “All things considered, Lieutenant Commander, you were able to make multiple passes around the room before even having to use your cane. That’s still progress.”

“Hm,” is her noncommittal response.

Grey eyes lid halfway, barely concealing the growing storm within them, and Sam steps forward before that phantom feeling of irritation tickling at the back of her skull can turn the session on its head.

“Is there anything she should know before her next appointment?”

The therapist rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “Well, as I’ve said, she’s making fine progress.” He turns his gaze to Morgana. “Just remember to stretch in the mornings before attempting any walking, and be certain to rest the moment you feel any pain. There’s no need to push yourself.”

Sam glances pointedly at Morgana out of the corner of her eye at that, but the woman just grunts. 

“As we’re done with our session today, I must say that it’s a mighty fine day out. Be a damned shame to stay inside all day.” He gestures to where Morgana’s still sitting. “The chair you’re in also doubles as a hoverchair by the way. You’re welcome to use it to get around in until you feel you can walk again. It has an automatic feature to return to its charging station at the end of the day, so you can keep it until then.”

“I—”

“We’ll take it,” Sam interjects before Morgana can respond in the negative. She smiles at the therapist. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure! I’ll forward you a set of exercises later to help with muscle relaxation. Other than that, please enjoy the rest of your day. Lieutenant Commander. Comm Specialist.” He dips his head respectfully to both women before taking his leave. 

…which also leaves his stubborn patient on the receiving end of Sam’s stern gaze. 

Morgana’s shoulders slump forward sheepishly. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I was just frustrated.”

Sam merely shakes her head with a sigh, understanding only all too well how the other woman fares with being helpless. “I know.” She bends down to collect Morgana’s fallen cane. “Shall we take a break then?”

“Mm. Might as well. I was bored to tears earlier sitting in my room.” 

Tapping a button on the outside of the chair’s arm, Morgana activates its hover-mode feature. Its two front legs expand into one another at an angle, providing seamless backing for her calves while a rectangular plate extends out from beneath to serve as a footrest.

“Where would you like to go?” she asks as the woman uses the interface on the opposite arm to direct the chair out of the room.

Morgana gives the matter some thought before turning her head to Sam. “Could we go to the fountain?”

* * *

“Thanks for agreeing to come out here,” Morgana remarks as they sit near the large fountain in the middle of the compound’s courtyard.

“Well, it really is such a nice day out. He was right; it would have been a shame to stay cooped up inside.”

“Agreed, but it needs… something.”

“And what are you suggesting?”

“Well, would you play chess with me?”

“What?” A startled laugh titters out of her. “But we haven’t a board.”

“Between the two of us, I don’t believe we’ll need one.” Morgana glances at Sam out of the corner of her eye, smirking. “Black Knight at B8 to C6.”

Sam can’t help but smile, impressed at the suggestion of how Morgana wishes they play, but the other woman merely shrugs.

“I had to do something to keep myself occupied here.” There’s a challenge in that pale gaze now. “Think you can keep up?”

“Oh, now you’re in for it. White Bishop at C1 to F4.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	21. Under Rich, Relentless Skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [To Be Human](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1-h9zUPN3Y) by Sia ft. Labrinth.

“You are aware that you don’t have to keep accompanying me to physical therapy, yes?” Morgana glances up, faint worry dancing in her eyes, likely concerned that she was inconveniencing her. “Doesn’t Hackett need your help with restoring the grid for the new intel infrastructure?”

“He does, but I think he also realizes there’s little worth in adding more hours to our workload. More stress just leads to more mistakes. Besides, even at our pace, the grid likely won’t even go live for a few more months yet.” Sam lightly pushes down on Morgana’s shoulders. “Now lay back down! You’re supposed to be resting!” she chides playfully, grin widening when the other woman gives her cursory murmur of disgruntlement at such treatment before laying her head back down on Sam’s lap.

Sam had recognized the other woman had slowly grown uncomfortable as they had continued their trek around the medical compound’s gardens. What benches scattered throughout the area were hardly comfortable for long periods of time, and while the tree they were sat under had been a more acceptable option with its soft, shaded grass, even that had been too much for Morgana for too long. This had been the best option, and Sam had been pleased the other woman didn’t put up as much of a fuss as usual.

It was no secret that even with physical therapy, it would be a long road to recovery for Morgana yet, but Sam was willing to do what she could to help even if it meant being used as a pillow every now and again.

In regards to the other woman’s sessions with her new therapist—a kind asari—Morgana was making great strides. It hadn’t been an easy process at first, given how closely guarded Morgana kept herself when it came to her own emotions. That, and Sam had long realized getting the other woman to go near any medical professional was more akin to pulling teeth, but Morgana was making an effort to be better, and Sam was proud of her for it. 

“Hackett asked about you as well,” Sam begins, rolling her eyes good-naturedly when she receives only a distinctly-unimpressed grunt in response. 

Hardly a surprise there either. She knows Morgana has no love of bureaucracy, especially given how most of them had handled Shepard’s claims regarding the Reapers. 

“Did he?” Morgana deadpans. “Why? Has he a need for me to shake my cane at someone?” She mimes exactly that, making a few half-hearted slashes in the air with a hand, which draws gentle laughter from Sam.

“No, no. He was looking for a bit of input, given your engineering skills and all,” she admits, and those grey eyes seem remarkably curious now, but Morgana says nothing, leading Sam to continue. “We have enough rations to go around, but that won’t be the case forever, given the number of refugees here. We’ve gathered some people with experience in agriculture to begin work on farming, but what they need most is some type of irrigation system, which you can imagine is currently in short supply.”

As she speaks, Sam watches that pale gaze draw inward as they often do when Morgana’s in deep thought. Given the other woman’s love of muchly anything that can challenge her intellect, her restless mind is likely already calculating various scenarios and visualizing blueprints that could aid their efforts. 

“I know it’s not your usual area of expertise—” Morgana’s interests usually steered more toward anything technology or automobile-related admittedly. “—but I do recall your ability to jury-rig things even with limited resources. If I gave you a list of available supplies, do you think you could come up with something?” Morgana still hasn’t said anything, but her expression remains contemplative. “It would give you something to do between therapy sessions,” she offers instead, knowing that Morgana is slowly going stir-crazy after spending so many months inside the medical compound. 

“A cage is still a cage no matter how lovely the amenities within,” had been her words.

Morgana hums thoughtfully then. “Send me that list later; I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	22. Wolf Drawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Emancipator's [Wolf Drawn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YYIFCE_REs).

“Shall I tell you a story?”

“‘A story?’” Sam repeats, brows raising curiously. “What prompted this?”

“Atmosphere.” Morgana gestures vaguely to the trees around them from where she has her head sitting in Sam’s lap. “Suitable for a story, no?”

“It isn’t scary, is it?” 

“Not at all.”

“Well…”

Once her permission is given, Morgana launches into an old tale involving the mythical of kingdom of Prakra, where a noblewoman named Nadine ruled as its Queen alongside Noura, her beloved consort. At the two distinctly feminine names, Sam is at once drawn in.

“Together, their rule was so powerful, it frightened their enemies, and so a curse was placed upon Noura. During the full moon, she would turn into a beast so terrifying, so feral that she was certain to rip her beloved’s throat out, so— _ow!_ Sam, I’m injured!”

Sam slaps again—gently this time—at Morgana’s shoulder while the woman in her lap simply pouts. Or rather tries to. It seems a difficult thing for her to keep the grin off her face. 

“I thought you said this wasn’t a scary story!” Her voice is reproachful.

“It’s not! I swear it!” Morgana manages to get out between laughter. Seeing that Sam still seems dubious of her claim at best, Morgana rests her own hand over hers. Her smile is earnest. “It gets better; I promise.”

“Alright,” she agrees begrudgingly. “So what happens with this werewolf?”

“Ah. Well, not wanting to hurt her lover, she fled Prakra and journeyed far to the very outskirts of the kingdom and deep into the forbidden forest there—a land long untouched by man and where it was rumored that only the most ancient and fiercest of beasts roamed. It was a sacred site but one almost meant to be feared, for those who ventured within rarely ever returned. 

“However, Queen Nadine’s love for Noura was so strong that she chased after her, and so for months, she wandered, following in the path of her beloved’s destruction. With each day that passed though, the hope of ever finding her was slowly slipping away. Then, one night in the forest, Nadine finally caught up to her. 

“The beast that was once her love approached Nadine. As its hulking form towered over her beneath the moonlight, the Queen’s heart sank when she saw the old wounds cutting through swaths of thick, patch-like fur—a sign of the seemingly countless trials Noura had endured within the forbidden forest. The wolf’s nose was then at Nadine’s throat as it backed her against a tree, and it opened its mouth full of glistening teeth as if to rend her to pieces, but she did not quake in fear.

“‘You are my beloved,’” she said at last and then told the wolf it could have anything—her heart, her lungs, her very life—so long as it was happy.

“And the wolf could not help but still above her. 

“When Noura had ran, she had searched for the farthest corner of the world to hide away in rather than risk herself hurting her beloved or any innocents. In her self-imposed solitude however, the beast had taken reign of her emotions and turned them into feral, hateful things. Expressing her grief and anger through the devastation of the forest and through the challenges of the equally terrible beasts within had been her only source of solace. 

“Noura would have eventually lost herself in her pain and madness, but so touched by Nadine’s words, the wolf had calmed and relinquished hold of her, allowing her to transform back into a woman. Under the moon’s gentle glow, the two lovers embraced—reunited at last—and Noura then proved her love and loyalty to Nadine there in the forest, never to be separated from her beloved ever again.”

While Sam had been skeptical regarding the story at first, she had also been enthralled, wanting to see how the tale of the two lovers and the terrible curse between them had ended. That both had lived and reaffirmed their love for one another…

“That was surprisingly sweet,” she admits. Sam arches a brow. “I actually didn’t realize you liked fairytales.”

Morgana looks up at her then, amused, but there’s an intensity within those ghost grey eyes, which stills Sam even as they beckon to her. Her smile is simply beatific. “I enjoy any story with a happy ending.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tale of Nadine and Noura is a short story within The Arcana visual novel. I just fleshed it out a bit more to fit in with the story-telling element of this chapter.
> 
> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	23. And if You Have a Minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Lily Allen's cover of [Somewhere Only We Know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mer6X7nOY_o).

It had become routine now for whenever Sam visited. After Morgana’s therapy sessions, they would retreat further into the gardens, and Morgana would lay her head on her lap while reciting various tales she had recalled from her childhood. 

Sam had been in the middle of weaving the woman’s dark curls into a loose braid, fingers trailing the sides of Morgana’s head from old muscle memory even if it wasn’t needed. 

Morgana had recently trimmed her previously shaggy undercut, and so it was now a gradual fade that disappeared into the still long tresses up top. As such, there was nothing to really pull away from the sides and back of her head anymore. 

But Morgana stiffens all the same, voice trailing off, as Sam’s fingers trace over the fine hairs.

“Are you alright?”

Morgana blinks repeatedly as if oddly confused by something, but she doesn’t seem greatly bothered otherwise. “Fine,” she assures, clearing her throat and shaking herself out of her thoughts. “As I was saying, Naelia, disgusted by her House’s role in the previous war…”

As the other woman continues speaking, curiosity gets the better of Sam. She skims her fingertips again just along the woman’s temples—catching the short, bristly hairs there—and she watches, fascinated, as Morgana’s body tenses for a long heartbeat before she simply melts in her lap, a lazy grin curling at the corners of her mouth. 

“Does that feel good?” Sam can’t keep the disbelief out of her voice, but it’s mostly overshadowed by humor as she watches Morgana’s eyes close, utterly relaxed.

“Mm.” She hums in affirmation, making soft, pleased noises as Sam repeats the motions with her thumbs this time, pressing more firmly. “You have no idea.”

Sam then runs her fingers soothingly over most of the undercut, but from experimentation, she notices Morgana reacts more strongly to the areas just behind her ears. “You’re reminding me of the puppies we used to have at the old prefabs. Always looking for a little scratch behind those cute, floppy ears.”

“Honest creatures certainly.”

Carefully, Sam folds over a long length of dark hair to one side so that she can get to the clipped ends that fade up into the top. “So I’ve always wondered something… Why do you normally cut it this way?”

“Hm?” Morgana’s eyes half-open. “Ah. Well, my hair is rather fine, but as you can already see, there’s simply a lot of it. Given that it’s also naturally wavy, there’s more volume than it actually needs, which was remarkably inconvenient whenever I wore my Recon Hood or just a standard helmet.” Morgana turns her head just so in Sam’s hands, wordlessly asking for more contact. As the caresses begin anew, she sighs happily, eyes lidding once more as she leans back into the touch with great relish. “The undercut thins it out enough to where it can lay flat against my head or be pulled back without the excessive weight.

“And you’re not just humoring me here? You’re actually enjoying this?”

“Clearly, you’ve never sported an undercut,” she drawls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Naelia mentioned belongs to [beedalee](https://beedalee.tumblr.com/), an absolutely wonderful artist. 
> 
> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	24. The Only Way Back is the Way Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [When I Was Young (BVRNOUT Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRbdKREVe3o) by Neo Noir ft. Brooke Williams.

Today, they’re in Morgana’s room; it’s one of the few times they don’t leave for the garden. The woman has made more progress in her physical therapy, but the downside to that is it exhausts her more as they up the intensity of her regimen. Morgana, of course, is apologetic for keeping Sam inside with her on such a nice day, but Sam isn’t the least bit bothered as she pulls a chair up next to the bed. 

“So how is progress regarding the grid?” Morgana is laid out on her side, facing her. 

“We’re on schedule to complete it within the next month. Oh! And about the blueprints for that irrigation system you made for us some time back? Hackett sends along his thanks. The farmers couldn’t have asked for much better.”

“Well, you were right. It gave me something to do here between sessions.” Grey eyes immediately follow the hand reaching out toward her, and she tilts her head forward encouragingly, smiling serenely at the soothing sensation of Sam’s massaging fingertips against her scalp.

“I’m typically right about most things, thank you very much.” As Morgana’s eyes close, Sam is both amused and amazed at how much easier it is now to get the woman to accept simple affection like this. 

“Dr. Esila tells me you haven’t been sleeping very well. Is everything alright?”

Morgana hums, relaxing into her touch. “If you keep doing that, my not sleeping won’t be a problem much longer.”

“Really?” she can’t help but ask incredulously, but she can already see the effect it’s having on Morgana, phantom waves of lethargy seeping into her.

“Mmhm. Shame we didn’t discover this back on the Normandy. I could’ve saved myself from so many sleepless nights.” She stretches languidly against the bedsheets, giving Sam the image of a lazy house cat. “Can’t imagine how much more productive I would’ve been.”

“Nonsense,” Sam protests lightly. “Given all we had to deal with, I’d say you performed admirably.”

“Mm. You’re far too kind.”

Silence.

“Morgana?” 

“Hm?” 

“Did you want to talk about it?” 

Morgana slowly opens her eyes, sighing. “I received a letter the other day to notify me of my parents’ passing. Bit belated honestly. Both had apparently died in the Reapers’ initial attack on Earth, but given all the reconstruction still going about, their remains were just found. When they ran their DNA through their system, they were able to find me as their last living kin.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shrugs. “I hadn’t spoken to my parents since I left home at 16.”

“16? But that’s—”

“The same age I entered Grissom? You’re not wrong.” Morgana sighs. 

“I was born into money, but my parents were never really home,” she admits with a sigh. “Father was a politician; mother was a socialite. He cared more about advancing his career, and she adored her parties and her little fancy drinks than staying home with me. 

“My nannies more or less raised me. One would read to me about these... fantastical, faraway places—the ones I tell you about in the garden—every night at bedtime. They fueled my fascination, but it didn't help that I was already a rather inquisitive child." She laughs. "I wanted the stories all the time. I got my hands on anything I could manage to find even if the books themselves had little to do with fantasy.

"I think the only time my parents ever expressed any sort of pride for me was when I tested for a high IQ at a relatively young age. It didn't last long of course," she drawls with a roll of her eyes. "My empathy developed not long after, and there were a series of... events that led to them keeping me out of the public eye as much as possible." She doesn't elaborate more on that, but there's lingering resentment in her eyes.

"By the time I was ready to test out of higher education, I would have done anything to get away. From their shame, their neglect... Even if it meant going well outside their influence. When I sent my application in to Grissom, they offered me a full scholarship. When my parents caught wind of it however, they gave me an ultimatum. Needless to say, I packed my bags and never looked back. I didn't care that I was written out of the estate.”

As Morgana reveals her parents’ treatment of her, Sam is understandably horrified. From what she has been told now and from past conversations, she sees a little clearer all the things that made Morgana the woman she is. It explains why she’s so reserved, and why—for all intents and purposes—she had slowly stopped trying to let people in.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam looks up, startled. “What? Whatever for?”

“We didn’t get to go out as planned today, and while what happened between my parents and I occurred what feels a lifetime ago—enough to where I stopped caring—it upset you. That wasn’t my intention.”

“I wasn’t upset!”

Morgana shares a half-smile that holds some measure of what seems like fondness. “Empath,” she states obviously. “You can’t exactly hide these things from me, but I thank you for wanting to defend me all the same.” Her eyes, however, drift away as she mulls something over. “There was… also something else.”

“What is it?”

“Well, HQ found another letter addressed to me from the backlog, but it’s dated from 2185—a busy year for me as you can recall. Between me moving about constantly with Specials Ops and then joining Shepard for his mission against the Collectors not long after, it had never been forwarded to the right location or at the right time. It had been waiting for me while I was still in Vancouver, but once the Reapers attacked, it got pushed back to the wayside again.” 

“Did you find out what was in the letter then?”

“Mm. It seems that while my parents wrote me out of their personal estate, my grandparents were not willing to do so with theirs.”

“You’re joking!”

“Hardly,” she snorts. “The window of time for me to claim the contents of their will had nearly expired before someone realized I was still here on Earth. My grandparents ended up leaving me with quite the sizable inheritance along with their manor out in the countryside.” 

“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?” Sam frowns when she senses the other woman’s unease.

“It would be, but I don’t know if it’s even still there,” she admits quietly, and she’s thankful when she feels the hand in hair resume with its slow stroking, trying to comfort her.

The quiet settling over them continues on for several minutes before it’s broken once again.

“Sam?” 

“Hm?”

Half-lidded eyes—misty-grey as the morning dawn—regard her. Morgana’s breathing deepens a touch, and Sam believes it won’t be long now until sleep claims her. 

“Would you come with me to see the estate? I haven’t been back there in years. I don’t know what state it’s in now that the war’s been long over. If it’s gone…” Her voice trails off.

Sam hides a grimace, knowing that if the estate had been destroyed, it would be yet another reminder of what Morgana had lost, and the other woman had lost so much already… 

But she’s not going to let Morgana go through this alone. 

“Of course.”

Morgana smiles, and it warms the sleepy gaze staring back at her. “Thank you.”

* * *

Morgana had been lulled into slumber from Sam’s gentle ministrations, but the young woman doesn’t leave the room. Instead, she stays seated, perhaps longer than she should have, for she doesn’t notice the visitor at the doorway until she speaks.

“You actually got her to sleep?”

Sam jerks in her seat, turning her head to see Morgana’s therapist standing there. Blushing, she pulls her fingers from Morgana’s hair with care so as to not wake her. 

“Oh. Hello, Dr. Esila. It wasn’t that difficult honestly. We just chatted a bit.”

The asari merely smiles, amused—at what exactly, Sam can’t even begin to tell. “Well, you have my gratitude all the same. Looks like I’ll know who to call next time when our mutual acquaintance is being stubborn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	25. And The Colors Are Golden and Bright Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is inspired by Rachel Platten's [Better Place](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itL5aKdp_kk).
> 
> And so we've finally reached the epilogue! This takes place some unspecified time after the last chapter.

“Where have you been? It’s pouring out there, and—God, you’re not even wearing your jacket!” 

Sam puts both hands on her hips, glaring at Morgana, who had finally returned to the estate, soaked to the bone. Sam had recalled seeing her leave with favorite leather jacket on earlier, but the garment in question is now bundled up in her arms instead—curiously so in fact. Sam frowns.

Because the bundle is _moving_.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Morgana’s tone is contrite even as she smiles. “But I ran into something.”

Whatever is hidden in Morgana’s arms chooses that moment to worm its head from the warmth of the woman’s leather jacket, and Sam finds herself staring at a small puppy, who seems just as bewildered as her. Blinking owlishly, the pup tilts its head, big ears flopping over comically to one side with the movement, for it has yet to grow into them. 

“He’s a Retriever.”

Sam stills, recalling a conversation from almost a lifetime ago, but Morgana continues speaking.

“At least I think he is. Granted, it’s a bit difficult to tell under all that mud and dirt.” She shrugs, sniffling quietly as beads of rain run down the bridge of her nose.

“We’ll see about that, but please get inside. You’re going to catch your death out there.” Rolling her eyes at Morgana, Sam then takes the puppy from the her arms before shooing the other woman into the kitchen to dry off. 

Morgana had been spot-on with her assumption though. 

It was a Labrador Retriever of all things—a Golden one Sam would wager—although his coat is mostly hidden beneath the layers of caked-on mud. There’s almost an artful splat of dirt framing his eyes like a mask, giving him the appearance of a little bandit, but he doesn’t seem to be on his way to stealing anything except perhaps her heart as his tongue lolls out happily in a puppyish grin. His scent however… 

Sam’s nose wrinkles although she doesn’t stop him from licking at her face as she cradles him closer, his little tail wagging exuberantly. “God. He’s filthy, the poor thing.”

Morgana wanders out of the kitchen then, idly toweling off her face, but as soaked to the bone as she is, she seems more in need of a warm bath than anything. “He can’t be any worse than I look after I work on cars all day.”

“Mmhm.” Sam looks less than impressed with her, but Morgana continues smiling unrepentantly. “I can see I’ll have my hands full with the two of you.”

“I suppose that just means we’ll be in good hands, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! Quite the exercise in writing and quite the journey. I might consider writing more about these two in the future. I've come to really adore them.
> 
> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been years since I've written anything, so apologies if this comes off rusty. If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
